


Pushing the Limits of my Heart

by benjji2795



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Also Kent is an idiot, BroT3 group chat, Injury, Jack and Bitty are simultaneously great friends and unhelpful friends, M/M, Slow Burn, Tater is a big softie, but what else is new, he's very bad at dealing with them tho, with lots of mushy feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8767381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benjji2795/pseuds/benjji2795
Summary: Bitty passes in front of Kent, drawing Tater’s attention to him.
    They lock eyes and Tater’s expression immediately turns sour, while at the same time his eyes widen slightly.  He looks sort of like a giant, angry buck caught in a car’s headlights, and despite himself, Kent finds it strangely cute.  “Why is Parson here?” Tater almost hisses, his shoulders tensing up to his ears.  Kent looks down at his lap as he feels his cheeks heat up and his stomach drop.  Jack was perhaps a little quick to dismiss his observation and say that it was possible that Tater didn’t hate him, because the man sitting a few feet away from Kent looks like he hates him with every fiber of his being.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flib](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flib/gifts).



> So flib requested [Bitty/Kent/Jack group chat drama](http://imagineyourot3.tumblr.com/post/148449394937/group-chat-meme) with Patater as the main ship and the gc drama is...well, it's still a big part of this fic? But uh, I hope you don't mind that I started with idea and just kinda...ran with it. Okay, to be fair, when I say "run with it", I didn't intend to run _this_ far with it. I really wanted to write something that was short and very cute with a side dish of snarky Kent and Bitty interactions and then--well, I hit a point where I realized that the story I wanted to tell would require the fic to be a lot longer that I had in mind (clearly, a _lot_ longer). And though I'm not sure that this fits what you may have had in mind, I still really have to thank you for this prompt though, because I had been in the middle of a creative dry spell (see me not having posted since August), but your prompt honestly just sparked something in my mind. I've been so eager and excited to share this fic with you :)
> 
> Now I have to give a lot of thanks to [Senia](http://cakemakethme.tumblr.com) and to [Jay](http://bahoreal.tumblr.com), my two best friends who without them, this fic probably wouldn't have happened (or at the very least it wouldn't have been as good). From their ideas that they were always so willing to offer up, to their patience as I used them extensively as sounding boards as I overhauled the plot three separate times which required so many messages sent back and forth, and not being bothered as I sent them the entire fic in IM's while I worked on it, their support was invaluable. And of course, I have to give an extra special thanks to Jay for the incredible art they supplied for this fic (if you need [art commissioned](http://bahoreal.tumblr.com/post/154089375031/bahoreal-im-opening-commissions-starting-now), you should check them out!).
> 
> I really hope y'all enjoy this fic!!! :)

**Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

**_Kent:_ ** _Holy fucking shit_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I honestly don’t understand_

 **_Kent:_ ** _How did he do that?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Who did what_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _What game are you watching_

**_Kent:_ ** _Um_

 **_Kent:_ ** _The falcs game_

 **_Kent:_ ** _What the fuck Bitty_

 **_Kent:_ ** _How are you not watching ur bf play right now?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _OH MY GOODNESS_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I FORGOT_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I WAS BAKING_

**_Kent:_ ** _Wow_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I see how it is_

 **_Kent:_ ** _See Jack_

 **_Kent:_ ** _This is how much ur bf loves you_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He’ll forget ur playing because he’s baking_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Shush your face Mr. Parson_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Jack knows I love him_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Even if I do forget to watch his games o.O_

**_Kent:_ ** _Okay but be honest_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Do you love him as much as you love baking?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _I SAID SHUSH_

**_Kent:_ ** _I hope Jack scrolls up and sees this when the game is over :)_

**_Bitty:_ ** _I’m honestly done with you_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _But I finished my pie and I’m turning on the game now_

**_Kent:_ ** _Why are you still texting me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I thought you were done with me ;)_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Bye_

**_Kent:_ ** _WAIT COME BACK_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I NEED SOMEONE TO SCREAM WITH_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Why do you need to scream_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Could it be because Tater has a hatty_

**_Kent:_ ** _YES OMFG_

 **_Kent:_ ** _LIKE WHAT THE FUCK_

 **_Kent:_ ** _IT’S ONLY THE START OF THE THIRD_

**_Bitty:_ ** _He’s very talented_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Jack is lucky to have him as a teammate_

**_Kent:_ ** _You know the aces had a chance to sign him two years ago, right?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Mmhmm_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You’ve brought it up every time you’ve watched the falcs play_

**_Kent:_ ** _Well I’m still bitter_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I can’t believe they didn’t shell out the money to get him_

**_Bitty:_ ** _*cough*$96.3 million*cough*_

**_Kent:_ ** _Fuck off_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’ve told you like 15,000 times that I tried to lobby for a paycut_

 **_Kent:_ ** _They weren’t interested in paying me less for some unknown fucking reason_

**_Bitty:_ ** _I’m just sayin’_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _If you want to know why they didn’t sign him_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Look no further_

**_Kent:_ ** _Whatever_

 **_Kent:_ ** _oh fuCK ME_

 **_Kent:_ ** _THAT WAS FUCKING SICK_

 **_Kent:_ ** _HOW THE FUCK IS HE SO TALENTED_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Okay Kent_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I get the hint_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You want to have sex with him_

**_Kent:_ ** _whAT_

 **_Kent:_ ** _THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Jeez Kent_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Every time you watch the falcs you won’t shut up about Tater_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _That wasn’t even that great a pass_

**_Kent:_ ** _SHUT UP OF COURSE IT WAS_

 **_Kent:_ ** _YOU’RE JUST DESENSITIZED TO HIS GREATNESS_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Probably but that’s not the point_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You’re constantly talking about Tater_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You don’t think I can read between the lines_

**_Kent:_ ** _I do not want to have sex with him_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He’s just an incredible hockey player and I am in awe of his skills_

_Bitty:_  


**_Kent:_ ** _Fuck off_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Okay but answer honestly_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _If he offered_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Would you say no_

**_Kent:_ ** _I’m literally blocking you_

**_Bitty:_ ** _I mean_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _He’s definitely very hot_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Got the height and looks just like Malkin_

**_Kent:_ ** _DON’T YOU DARE BRING GENO INTO THIS_

**_Bitty:_ ** _What, because he’s your type?_

 _Bitty:_  


**_Bitty:_ ** _See how similar they look_

**_Kent:_ ** _This is slander and I won’t stand for it_

**_Bitty:_ ** _That doesn’t even make sense_

**_Kent:_ ** _idc_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Okay but listen_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _We could set you up_

**_Kent:_ ** _BITTY PLS_

**_Jack:_ ** _It’s okay that Bits was baking._

 **_Jack:_ ** _I know what I signed up for, Parse._

**_Kent:_ ** _Ew_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Stop being cute_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Okay but honey_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Are you in to set Kent up with Tater_

**_Jack:_ ** _I don’t think so._

**_Kent:_ ** _GOD BLESS YOU ZIMMS_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Awww but why_

**_Jack:_ ** _Tater doesn’t seem to like Parse all that much._

**_Kent:_ ** _Say what_

**_Jack:_ ** _Tater is always smiling and pretty happy, but when you’re mentioned, he stops smiling and starts scowling._

 **_Jack:_ ** _And let’s not forget the time he picked you up and nearly beat the crap out of you._

**_Kent:_ ** _First of all, I’m offended because I am a gift and a delight_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Second of all_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He picked me up with one hand_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He’s so Goddamn fucking strong omfg_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Like I’m not saying I wanted him to beat me up_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But if he HAD punched me in the face then_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I probably would’ve thanked him_

**_Jack:_ ** _Parse._

 **_Jack:_ ** _Focus._

**_Bitty:_ ** _Wow_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I’m just_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You’ve got it bad_

**_Kent:_ ** _I KNOW_

 **_Kent:_ ** _PLS STOP REMINDING ME_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Aww honey_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Look at how distressed he is_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _We have to help him_

**_Kent:_ ** _Jack_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’m literally begging you_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Please stop him_

**_Jack:_ ** _Well, I suppose what I’m seeing is just an observation.  It might mean nothing about how he thinks of you._

 **_Jack:_ ** _And he has seemed a little uptight lately.  It might not be bad for him to go out with someone, and you’re the best option we have…_

**_Kent:_ ** _Let me guess_

 **_Kent:_ ** _You’ve gotten home_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And Bitty is giving you those big ole puppy dog eyes_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Isn’t he_

**_Jack:_ ** _…_

**_Kent:_ ** _DAMMIT JACK_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Alright listen,,,you guys are great_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But I do NOT need your help getting laid_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Really_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Last week you said, and I quote:_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _“Help, I stg I’ve already slept with everyone on grindr near Vegas…I haven’t had sex in a month omfg this sucks”_

**_Kent:_ ** _I honestly hate you_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Why do you always keep receipts_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Because you never know when they might come in handy_

 ** _Bitty:_** _¯_ _\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/_ _¯_

**_Kent:_ ** _Jack ur bf is out of control_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He needs to be stopped_

**_Jack:_ ** _Why do you think that I’m the one that would be able to stop him?_

 **_Jack:_ ** _You know that I’m putty in his hands._

**_Kent:_ ** _smh_

 **_Kent:_ ** _You’re both disgusting and I never want to speak to either of you again_

**_Bitty:_ ** _That can be arranged_

***Kent was removed from the chat***

**Messages with Jack**

**_Kent:_ ** _OMFG_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I WASN’T ACTUALLY BEING SERIOUS_

 **_Kent:_ ** _PLS ADD ME BACK_

***You were added to a group chat***

**Group chat with Bitty and Jack**

**_Bitty:_ ** _Aww Jack_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Why did you have to ruin my fun_

**_Kent:_ ** _He’s literally right there_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Why are you asking him this by text_

**_Bitty:_ ** _DO YOU WANT ME TO REMOVE YOU AGAIN_

**_Kent:_ ** _OKAY FINE I’M SHUTTING UP_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But seriously_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Pls don’t try to set me up with him_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I would only embarrass myself_

**_Jack:_ ** _Knowing Tater he’d probably find you amusing._

**_Kent:_ ** _THAT WOULD BE WORSE_

**_Bitty:_ ** _ALL THE MORE REASON TO INTRODUCE THEM_

**_Kent:_ ** _Okay but shouldn’t you be getting to bed_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It’s past Zimms’ bedtime :)_

**_Jack:_ ** _Actually he’s right, it is getting pretty late._

**_Bitty:_ ** _-_-_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Don’t think we’re done with this Mr. Parson_

_Kent:_  


**_Bitty:_ ** _Literally bye_

**_Kent:_ ** _:)_

* * *

_*Three Weeks Later – Falconers vs. Aces*_

**Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

**_Bitty:_ ** _So_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Kent_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You have any plans for after the game_

**_Kent:_ ** _That depends_

**_Bitty:_ ** _On what_

**_Kent:_ ** _On if we win :)_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Good luck with that_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _But I’m taking that to mean that you don’t have any plans_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Which means I think you should go out with us ;))))))_

**_Kent:_ ** _Why are you winking at me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Wait_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Never mind_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It’s going to be a hard pass for me_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Oh please_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You can’t avoid this forever_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _It’s going to happen_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Even if you don’t go out with him_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I’m going to introduce you to Tater if it’s the last thing I do_

**_Kent:_ ** _Keep dreaming_

**_Jack:_ ** _What are you going to do if you don’t come with us?_

**_Kent:_ ** _Shhhhhh_

**_Jack:_ ** _I think you should come with us._

**_Kent:_ ** _Oh my God_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I really need you to stop taking his side on this_

**_Jack:_ ** _I’m not “taking his side,” I just think that this would be a good thing for both you and Tater._

 **_Jack:_ ** _But even if I was taking his side, what else would you expect me to do?  He’s my boyfriend._

**_Kent:_ ** _Ugh_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Remind me why I’m friends with you two again_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Because we are a delight_

**_Kent:_ ** _Debatable_

**_Bitty:_ ** _#BLOCKT_

**_Kent:_ ** _Kk that was rude_

**_Jack:_ ** _You bring this out of him, you know._

 **_Jack:_ ** _He’s not really like this with anyone else._

**_Bitty:_ ** _Oh Jack_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Honey_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You should see the convos I have with Holster and Lardo_

**_Jack:_ ** _Oh._

**_Bitty:_ ** _Tho you’re right that it’s partly Kent’s fault_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _He does make it worse_

**_Kent:_ ** _HEY_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’M STILL HERE_

**_Bitty:_ ** _I know :)_

**_Kent:_ ** _Everyone says ur super sweet and adorable_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But the ppl who know you well know the truth_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Ur fuckin ruthless_

**_Bitty:_ ** _:))))))_

**_Kent:_ ** _Anyway_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Jack_

 **_Kent:_ ** _If you and bitty want to come over to my apartment after the game_

 **_Kent:_ ** _SANS Tater_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Ur welcome to_

 **_Kent:_ ** _If not, have fun on ur own_

**_Jack:_ ** _You should give going out with us more thought._

 **_Jack:_ ** _I really think Tater would like you if he got to know you._

**_Kent:_ ** _HA_

 **_Kent:_ ** _HAHAHA_

 **_Kent:_ ** _HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Phew, that was a good one Zimms_

**_Jack:_ ** _I wasn’t joking._

**_Kent:_ ** _Listen_

 **_Kent:_ ** _If Tater doesn’t like me right now like you say he does_

**_Jack:_ ** _That’s not necessarily true._

**_Kent:_ ** _Whatever_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’m just saying that if he doesn’t like me, meeting me wouldn’t change that_

 **_Kent:_ ** _No one who has met me has walked away liking me more than they did before_

**_Bitty:_ ** _This is 100% true_

**_Kent:_ ** _WOW_

**_Jack:_ ** _The way you two talk to each other sometimes, I swear you’re not really friends._

**_Bitty:_ ** _And the way Nursey and Dex talk to each other sometimes, I swear they’re not really dating_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _And yet_

**_Jack:_ ** _Fair point._

**_Bitty:_ ** _Kent_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I’m just going to tell you that the longer you resist_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _The more you’re prolonging your pain_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Because I’m not giving up_

**_Kent:_ ** _I’ll deal with it_

 **_Kent:_ ** _You can’t break me_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Ooh, a challenge_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You’re going to come to regret this Mr. Kent Vincent Parson_

**_Kent:_ ** _HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU_

 **_Kent:_ ** _THAT’S NOT MY MIDDLE NAME_

 **_Kent:_ ** _IT’S VICTORY_

**_Bitty:_ ** _That’s not a middle name and I refuse to acknowledge it_

**_Kent:_ ** _Oh really_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’ll tell my mother you said so_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Please_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Be my guest_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _B)_

**_Kent:_ ** _Alright I’m out_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Yes Kent, we know ur gay :)_

**_Kent:_ ** _Thank you Captain Obvious_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I meant I have to leave_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Cause practice_

**_Jack:_ ** _Have fun._

**_Kent:_ ** _I doubt it_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Jay is out for our blood after last night’s game_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It’s going to be hell_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Shouldn’t be much of an adjustment_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Considering you’re already there_

**_Kent:_ ** _Bye Felicia_

***Kent left the group chat***

***Jack added Kent to the group chat***

**_Kent:_ ** _Zimms pls_

**_Jack:_ ** _Go to practice._

**_Kent:_ ** _Whatever dad_

**_Bitty:_ ** _#daddy_

**_Kent:_ ** _Ew_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Keep that shit in ur private chats_

**_Bitty:_ ** _;)_

**_Kent:_ ** _Alright I’m actually leaving now_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Before y’all get nasty_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Y’ALL_

**_Kent:_ ** _SHIT_

 **_Kent:_ ** _BYE_

* * *

 

_*One Month Later – All-Star Weekend*_

**Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

**_Bitty:_ ** _You got any plans for tonight_

**_Kent:_ ** _Whatever ur proposing, I’m not interested_

**_Bitty:_ ** _You don’t even know what I was going to suggest_

**_Kent:_ ** _Bitty pls_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Don’t lie to me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I know he’s here_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Who’s here_

**_Kent:_ ** _Don’t play dumb with me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Tater is here and I know ur going to try and introduce us_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Not tonight tho_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Tater already told me he was busy_

**_Kent:_ ** _That’s a convenient story_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Since I have no way to confirm it_

**_Jack:_ ** _I think Geno and Ovechkin and those guys invited him out._

**_Kent:_ ** _Oh they did?_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Do you know whether he said yes_

**_Jack:_ ** _No, but are you actually doing anything right now?_

**_Kent:_ ** _Yes_

**_Jack:_ ** _Anything besides binge watching Netflix?_

**_Kent:_ ** _…_

**_Jack:_ ** _You already blew us off when we came to Vegas. That means today and the game in Providence is going to be the only times we’ll be able to get together the rest of the reason._

 **_Jack:_ ** _So I really think you should come down to our room for a while._

 **_Jack:_ ** _Please?_

**_Kent:_ ** _First of all, I hate you_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Second of all, you make a good point_

 **_Kent:_ ** _So fine_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’ll be down in 10_

 

Kent sighs and closes his laptop, tossing it to the side without looking.  It lands on the side of the bed and tumbles off the edge, clattering on the floor.  He leans over the side of the bed and stares at it for a moment before shrugging.  If he broke it, it’s not like it’s a big deal.  He can always replace it.

 

Kent swings his legs off the bed and stand up, walking over to the corner of the room where he tossed his suitcase when he arrived yesterday.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to chill with his friends, Kent thinks as he pulls on a pair of jeans, it’s just that if he doesn’t know for sure Tater is busy, he doesn’t trust that Bitty won’t try to trick him.  Or even if it’s true that Tater can’t come, he’s not sure he’s up for Bitty to spend the whole time pestering Kent about his— _crush_ , if you can call it that (considering how intense it feels at times), on Tater.

 

Of course the fact that they even know he has a thing for Tater is new.  Kent usually keeps those kinds of things close to his chest.  He may be out, but he doesn’t even talk to Jeff or Swoops (his two best friends on the Aces) about his crushes—not that they would mind, obviously.  Kent just doesn’t like exposing himself to people like that.  So when he began to trust Jack and Bitty enough to let these kinds of things slip, he doesn’t know, but his friendship with them is—odd, to say the least—so he’s hardly surprised.

 

Kent puts on his snapback and adjusts it, briefly appraising himself in the mirror.  He mostly looks like he just rolled out of bed, but considering that’s where he’s spent the whole evening after practice finished, that makes sense.  But it’s not like it matters; he doubts Jack and Bitty will be looking any better.  Or even care.

 

Kent yanks down the door handle to his room and opens the door, stepping out into the hallway just in time to see a shirtless hockey player (he can’t tell who) go jogging past.  He at least can tell that it’s not one of his Aces teammates, so Kent doesn’t hesitate to swivel his head and take a brief second to admire his sharply chiseled trapezius and deltoid muscles.  He stops at door down the hallway, and Kent quickly turns in the other direction (he wouldn’t care, but Kent doesn’t like getting caught checking guys out).

 

Padding down the hallway a few yards to Jack and Bitty’s room (just three down from his own), Kent raps his knuckles sharply on the door.  “Let me in fuckers,” he says loudly.

 

Kent isn’t standing very close to the door, but he can distinctly hear Québécois swearing and stifled giggling.  He can’t help groaning, because this is a pattern with them.  They’ll invite him over, and in the time it takes Kent to get ready and travel over to their room, they end up well on their way to getting it on.  With Jack in his late 20’s and Bitty nearing his mid-20’s, you’d think their sex life would start slowing down—but unfortunately, Kent is not finding that to be the case.

 

“Sorry about that.  We were, ah—” Jack says when he pulls the door open.

 

“Halfway to stripping off all your clothes and having wild hotel room sex?” Kent offers, examining Jack carefully.  His shirt is clearly on backward and his hair is a twisted, tangled mess, like Bitty was just running his hands through it (which most likely, he was).

 

“Um—”

 

“Figures,” Kent says, rolling his eyes as he pushes past Jack into the room.  “The way you two are, I’d swear you were both sixteen and not in your twenties.  I mean, do you have any idea how many times this has happened to me since we became friends?”

 

“You can hush Mr. Parson,” Bitty retorts, attempting to flatten the cowlick at the back of his head (Kent is pretty sure that’s Jack’s fault).  “Just because you aren’t gettin’ any—”

 

“Yeah I’m going to stop you right there,” Kent says, holding his hand up to cut Bitty off.  “I’m well aware of how sex-deprived I am, and this weekend is not helping,” he adds, flopping down on one of the beds (he’s not picky about which—they’ve probably had sex on both by now).

 

“Oh, it’s not?” Bitty replies, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

 

Kent nods.  “Yep,” he says.  “It’s just like—the All-Star game isn’t a big deal at all, okay?  There’s nothing riding on it so basically, I’m being given a whole weekend surrounded by hot hockey players, with no serious competition to distract me from the fact that they’re all hot.”

 

“That sounds like an absolute _tragedy_ ,” Bitty observes, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  “If only there was someone out there who was offerin’ you the chance to hook up with one of those hot hock—”

 

“Oh how dare you,” Kent objects, waggling his finger at Bitty threateningly.  “How dare you use my moment of vulnerability to push your harebrained scheme to set me up with Alexei—”

 

Kent freezes, eyes going wide when he sees, over Bitty’s shoulder, a hulking figure enter the room.  He’s been betrayed.  Bitty just fucking Judas’d the hell out of him, and if it wasn’t for the 6’4” monster of a really fucking attractive man that he really doesn’t want to hate him more than he already does watching his every move, Bitty would be toast.  As it is, Kent shoots Bitty the most withering glare he can manage.  Bitty frowns at this, turning around to see what Kent’s seen to cause him to look at him that way.

 

“Oh hey Tater!” Bitty greets brightly, having the audacity to beam when he spots Tater.  “I’m so glad you could come by!”

 

Tater shrugs.  “Well Sid decide he not want to go out so Zhenya cancel, and Ovie say he just not feeling it,” he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed opposite Kent.  “So I’m get bored and come here.”

 

Well he wasn’t betrayed, he just got unlucky that everyone cancelled on Tater.  Later, Kent will make sure to apologize for glaring at Bitty, but right now, he’s trying to figure out what to do, because Tater still hasn’t seemed to notice that he’s here.

 

“We’re always just tickled pink to have company,” Bitty replies, crossing the room to grab a container of what are probably cookies.  Bitty passes in front of Kent, drawing Tater’s attention to him.

 

They lock eyes and Tater’s expression immediately turns sour, while at the same time his eyes widen slightly.  He looks sort of like a giant, angry buck caught in a car’s headlights, and despite himself, Kent finds it strangely cute.

 

“Why is Parson here?” Tater almost hisses, his shoulders tensing up to his ears.

 

Kent looks down at his lap as he feels his cheeks heat up and his stomach drop.  Jack was perhaps a little quick to dismiss his observation and say that it was possible that Tater didn’t hate him, because the man sitting a few feet away from Kent looks like he hates him with every fiber of his being.

 

Bitty hands Tater the Tupperware container, appearing to be unfazed by Tater’s expression.  “Kent is our friend too,” Bitty says nonchalantly.

 

“I’m know this, but I’m tell you—why you invite over at same time?” Tater questions, and Kent tries not to feel hurt by the upset and somewhat hostile tone to his voice.

 

Bitty shrugs again.  “I didn’t exactly invite him over at the same time—”

 

“But he is here!”

 

At this point, Jack steps in.  “We didn’t think you would be coming over, so I told Bits that it was okay to invite Parse over,” he says, putting a hand on Tater’s shoulder.  Bitty looks over at Jack, his brow furrowed which tips Kent off that that’s definitely not what happened.  “It’s not like we have unlimited time this weekend,” Jack continues on.

 

“I’m understand,” Tater says, his voice tight like he really doesn’t.  “But I’m think I’m go back to room.  We can be doing this later when we all back in Providence.”

 

Kent clears his throat, standing up just as Tater exits the room.  “I think um—I think I’m going to go back to my room too,” he says, and he can’t help how dejected he sounds.  But there isn’t anything else that sucks more than finding out the guy you have a giant crush can’t stand to be in the same room as you.

 

“Kent—”

 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Kent growls, yanking his arm away as Bitty reaches for it.

 

“I didn’t know he was goin’ to react like that,” Bitty replies defensively.

 

“Oh really?  Well maybe if you had listened to Jack two months ago when he told you this was a terrible idea instead of convincing Jack to play along, you would’ve had a pretty good idea,” Kent barks, and he knows his shouting isn’t fair to Bitty, because it really was an accident that they ended up here at the same time, but he’s hurt and he’s having a hard time convincing himself to stop.

 

“Kent, I know you’re hurt, but you need to calm down,” Jack says, his voice quiet but the stern warning is still crystal clear.

 

“I know, okay?” Kent snaps back.  “I know I need to calm down but he can’t stand to be in the same room as me and I don’t think you understand how much that hurts!”

 

“I know that and I’m really sorry but Kent, if you would just—” Bitty says, but Kent isn’t interested in hearing any buts.

 

“Bits,” Jack says gently.  “Let it go.”

 

“But Jack you said it yourself,” Bitty protests.  “We both know that they’re perfect for each other, if they would just _talk_ —”

 

“He doesn’t want to talk to me!  I mean, why would he?” Kent says, his voice rising in pitch as his anger abruptly changes to something more like despair.

 

“Don’t do this to yourself Kent,” Bitty says, moving towards him.  “You’re a—”

 

“I’m an asshole, okay?  And that’s all I attract!” Kent says, sinking down on the bed as he puts his head in his hands.  “I don’t know why I believed even for a second that Tater might not hate me.  He’s too good a guy and he can just sense—good people know to keep their distance from me.”

 

“Then what are we?” Jack questions, sitting down on the bed next to him.

 

Kent sniffles, rubbing at his eyes.  “You’re—I don’t—you guys are outliers I guess,” he says with a shrug.  “I don’t understand it.”

 

“It’s because you’re not an asshole Kent,” Bitty pipes up, holding out a cookie for Kent to take.  “I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but once you get past the asshole façade you put up, you’re a great person, and we both know that.”

 

Kent grabs the cookie and takes a bite.  “I don’t know that I believe that,” he says, shaking his head.  “But thanks.”

 

“Now how about we queue something up on Netflix to watch for a while,” Bitty offers.

 

Kent nods.  “Yeah, okay.  And I’m sorry.  You know, for shouting at you guys just now,” he says, looking down at the cookie in his hand.  “I know that you didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

“We get it,” Jack replies, nudging Kent with his shoulder.  “Rejection isn’t fun.”

 

“No shit,” Kent snorts.

 

“How ‘bout some rom-coms?” Bitty asks.

 

“Really?” Jack and Kent say at the same time, and Bitty puts his hands up.

 

“Okay, it was just a thought.”

 

Kent laughs again, and well, rejection sucks, but it’s easier to handle with friends.

* * *

 

The events of the night before are the last thing on Kent’s mind as he climbs over the boards and lands on the ice for his first shift.  He’s ready to play some relaxed, low-stakes hockey and have some fun.  At least, that’s what he was planning on, but as he skates out to his position for the faceoff, he notices that Tater is also climbing onto the ice.

 

 _“Fucking hell,”_ Kent curses under his breath.  If he and Tater have the same shifts, that means that they will, for the most part, be facing up against each other for most plays during the game.

 

That normally wouldn’t be a problem for Kent, but seeing that familiar frame glide across the ice brings back the pain of rejection.  Just because he hasn’t been thinking about it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.  But he has to prove that it doesn’t matter to him.  He has to beat Tater head-to-head; he has to make it clear that he wasn’t fazed by Tater’s rejection.  He has to show Tater that he can hate him all he wants, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s the best Goddamn player on this ice.

 

While they’re still waiting for the TV timeout to end, Kent skates over to Tater and gently shoulders into him.  Tater doesn’t budge at all, but that wasn’t the point because a) all 5’9”, 175 of Kent couldn’t move him with a check if he wanted to, and b) it was merely meant to be a warning shot.

 

“You better be ready to play your A-game,” Kent taunts, swinging around Tater, coming to a halt two feet in front of him.

 

Tater’s eyes narrow on Kent, his face contorting into a scowl.  “Is only All-Star game,” Tater answers.

 

Kent fixes his trademark smirk into place as he looks up into the larger man’s eyes.  “Well, let me put it this way.  If you don’t want to look silly in front of the entire fucking league, you better play hard because I _won’t_ take it easy on you.”

 

The whistle blows and the puck drops, skittering out of the face off past the two of them.  Kent quickly turns and chases after it, leaving later in his dust as he takes the puck all the way to the goal and flips it into the net for an easy score.  After quickly celebrating with the guys on his team, he skates back over to a glaring Tater.

 

“See?” he says.  “Now step up, or prepare.  To be.  Humiliated.”

 

Tater grabs a fistful of Kent’s jersey and dragging him closer.  “Fine,” he growls lowly.  “If this is what you be wanting, is what you will get.”

 

“Give me all you got, big boy,” Kent answers coolly, continuing to smirk as Tater releases him and shoves him back.  Kent skates over to the bench, his smirk never fading as the crowd cheers for him.

 

Two very intense shifts later (one of which produced another goal with Kent on the assist), there’s on knock on the glass behind Kent, which startles him slightly.

 

“Kent!” a voice yells, forcing Kent to twist around and see who it is.

 

He’s expecting to find a fan waving at him, but instead he finds Bitty standing there.  He looks displeased, and Kent’s brow furrows in confusion.  Why would Bitty leave Jack to come talk to him?

 

“Hey Bitty, what’s up?” Kent shouts back questioningly.  “Why did you come over here?”

 

“Jack asked me to!” he replies.  “And even if he hadn’t I’d have still come over here because you need to _calm the fuck down_!”

 

Kent gives Bitty a strange look and shakes his head.  “What?  No way!  I’m beating hi—I mean, we’re winning!” he answers.

 

“It’s the All-Star game Kent, for heaven’s sake!  You’re going to hurt yourself or someone else if you keep playing like this!” Bitty chides forcefully.

 

“Listen, every one always talks about the All-Star game being dull,” Kent explains.  “I just decided that it’s high time someone put on the show that every one tunes into see!”

 

“That’s a load of horse manure and you know it!” Bitty reprimands.  “This is about Ta—”

 

“No it’s _not_ ,” Kent shouts over him, waving his hand dismissively.  “I’m over that!  This is all about the game!”

 

“The _All-Star game_ , not the Stanley cup finals,” Bitty reminds him.

 

“Whatever!” Kent replies dismissively.  “Stop worrying!  It’s going to be fine!”

 

“Parson! Stop chitchatting with fans!  Your shift is on!”

 

“Thanks for stopping by,” Kent says as he puts on his gloves and picks up his stick.  “Relay that to Jack by the way.  Tell him to stop worrying!  Oh, and also tell him that’s he’s going to have to start playing better if he actually wants to win this game,” he adds with a smirk.

 

“Fine, have it your way,” Bitty huffs as he storms off.

 

“I will, thanks!” Kent calls back as he jumps on the ice.

* * *

 

Alexei steps back onto the ice after intermission for the start of the third period, with the Eastern Conference down 4-3.  After Parson’s challenge and initial goal, he’s been playing as hard as he can.  He has no interest in looking silly in front of millions of hockey fans.  But no one on his team is matching his or Parson’s level of intensity, and he’s no match for Parson on his own.  Parson is just too damn fast and shifty and he’s too big and cumbersome to keep up most of the time.  Just add that to his ever-growing list of reasons why Kent Parson is the most frustrating person on the planet.

 

The third period starts without incident.  Parson’s continued high-level of play seems to lit a fire under some of his teammates, and he’s not given the same free reign he was allowed in the first two periods.  As a result, Parson starts trying riskier and riskier plays until, a few minutes later, Parson nearly smashes into Snowy while he’s in goal (again).

 

Snowy is his best friend and his goalie, and regardless of the “thing” he might have for Parson, regardless of the way he might have been slightly turned on when Parson smirked at him while challenging him, to let him get away with this for a second time feels like nothing short of absolute betrayal.  He might think Parson is a great player, but enough is enough.  He has to get it through Parson’s thick head that there are lines you don’t cross, even if you are a great player, and the only way to do that is to teach him a lesson that he won’t easily forget.

 

As Alexei turns his attention back to the game, he sees Parson chasing the puck behind the goal, and a quick examination of the ice and the other players on it tells Alexei that he has the perfect angle to lay in a good hit on Parson.

 

With a few smooth, powerful strokes of his blades on the Alexei’s momentum carries him over to the boards, where he leans into the check, hitting Parson as hard as he can manage.

 

Parson’s body makes a sickening sound as Alexei squeezes him between himself and the boards.  There’s an audible gasp that fills the arena, followed by a dull thud as Parson hits the ice, and Alexei stops in his tracks as the whistle blows.

 

 _“What the **fuck** Tater?”_ one of his own teammates shouts in his ear, but Alexei can’t respond, can’t move, because Parson isn’t moving.  He’s lying on the ice, and he’s not moving to get up.  _Fuck_.  He’s been struggling with all the things swirling around in his head regarding Parson and by not dealing with them he caused himself to lose control.  And now Kent is on the ice and he isn’t moving.

 

He’s sudden overwhelmingly concerned about Kent, and that jolts him back into motion, skating over to where he is, but he’s immediately pushed back by a member of the medical staff.

 

“Is he okay?” Alexei asks, grabbing the guy by his shoulders.

 

“Please sir,” he answers.  “I need you to back up—”

 

“Is he okay?” Alexei repeats desperately.

 

He just shakes his head.  “I don’t know, but please, would you back up?”

 

Just then, an official comes over and pulls Alexei away.  “That was too much son,” he says, guiding him toward the bench.  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the ice.”

 

At that moment, Jack comes over.  “I’ll take care of this,” he says to the official, taking Alexei’s other free arm.  “I told you to back off,” Jack says calmly as they continue to make their way to the bench, and every other player and most of the fans in the arena are glaring at him.

 

“He almost hurt Snowy and I’m—I’m get carried away,” Alexei replies, his voice wavering as he stops to look back at Kent, who’s being loaded onto a stretcher.

 

“Yes, you did,” Jack says matter-of-factly.

 

“I’m—I’m injure other player in All-Star game,” Alexei continues, saying the only thing he can think to say because he’s in total shock.  “George will kill me.”

 

Jack shrugs as Alexei climbs over the boards into the bench area.  “Probably,” he says.  “Now go back to the locker room and get changed out of your uniform and be ready to leave when the game is over.”

 

The paramedics are carrying Parson past him, and Alexei tries to start walking after them.  “Wait!” he shouts.  “I’m must be going with!”

 

“Tater, stop,” Jack says, putting a hand on his arm and stepping in front of him.  “Which hospital are you taking him to?” he asks one of the paramedics.

 

Alexei doesn’t hear his answer because he can’t help but stare at Kent’s vacant, pale (and still far too pretty) face.  He may have just accidentally ended Kent’s career (though his brain tells him that he’s probably being too dramatic and he’ll more than likely be able to play again), all because he likes Kent and was an absolute shithead about dealing with it.

 

“Tater, come on,” Jack says, pushing him down the tunnel toward the locker room.  “You have to go.  Everyone’s waiting for you to leave so the game can start again.”

 

“But—”

 

“Bits and I will be going over to the hospital after the game and I promise you can come with us,” Jack says.

 

“O-okay,” Alexei stutters, his mind tripping over the thought of seeing Kent lying in a hospital bed, and that it’s his fault.  He’s an absolute _idiot_.

* * *

 

There are several thoughts that run through Kent’s mind as he slowly begins to come to.  First: **_ouch_**.  Every part of his body hurts.  His head is pulsing and throbbing, and there’s a jolt of pain in his chest every time he draws in a breath.  Second: well, that’s also an **_ow_** , because he doesn’t consider that light might make the ache in his head worse, and the room is decorated with so much white, which accentuates the bright whiteness of the room, searing his eyes and making his head throb even more.  Third, probably most important: _why the fuck is he in a hospital?_

 

Kent exhales, groaning softly.

 

“Oh, he’s waking up,” Bitty says, and his voice is barely above a murmur, but it’s still too loud for Kent.

 

“Shhh, don’t talk so loud,” Kent mumbles.  “It hurts my head.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Bitty whispers warmly.  “The doctor said you got a mild concussion.”

 

“How—how did I get a concussion?” Kent inquires.  He tries to think about the last thing he did, what might have happened to give him a concussion, but he’s drawing a blank.  The last thing he can remember is stepping onto the ice at the beginning of the All-Star game and then—nothing.  It must have happened to him then, but he has no idea when.

 

“You took a really nasty check during the game,” Jack explains, sounding thoroughly uncomfortable (Kent is too, considering both their experiences with hospitals).

 

“I—I don’t remember taking a check,” Kent replies questioningly, hoping that someone will explain exactly who hit him and how.

 

“What you mean he not remember?” a Russian voice asks anxiously, and Kent cracks an eye open.  He doesn’t count any Russians as close friends, so he’s not sure who it would be, though the voice is vaguely familiar.

 

“Don’t worry about it Tater.  The doctor said he might not remember everything right now,” Jack says just as Kent pinpoints and identifies the source of the voice.  What is Tater doing here?

 

“What are you—why are you here?” Kent croaks out the question.  He maintains eye contact with Tater through his eye that’s cracked open, even though it hurts his head.

 

Tater grimaces, guiltily looking down at his lap, and that says enough Kent doesn’t really need to hear what he’s going to speak next.  “I’m one that check you,” he says quietly.  “I’m reason that you are here.”

 

“How—how did that happen?” Kent poses, because still nothing is coming to him.

 

“You come around behind goal and I’m closest so I check,” Tater tells him, wringing his hands as he speaks.  “But I’m hit too hard and you—you end up here.”

 

Kent inhales and feels another sharp pang in his chest.  “ _Fuckin’_ —thanks for that,” Kent says, feeling a flare of intense anger.  “Why did you have to hit me so fucking hard?”

 

“You almost take out goalie again!” Tater protests, raising the volume of his voice and making Kent wince.

 

“Tater,” Jack interjects firmly.  “Kent has every right to ask that question so you need to calm down and be quieter.”

 

“Sorry,” Tater murmurs, dropping his voice down to a whisper.  “But you almost hurt Snowy and I’m feel I’m have to protect him.  I’m only want to hit, not hurt. I’m so sorry.”

 

As he finishes speaking, Tater hangs his head, and he looks so guilty that Kent feels his heart softening.  He wants to forgive him right then, but he feels another harsh prick of pain in his head, and he reacts by inhaling sharply, which causes another twinge of pain in his chest.  Tater’s hit has made him feel like shit, and besides that, it’s hard for Kent to forget the way Tater’s expression had immediately soured at his sight last night in Jack and Bitty’s room.  Suddenly, despite how remorseful he looks, Kent has no interest in forgiving Tater at all.

 

“Oh, I see he’s awake,” someone—Kent guesses it’s probably a nurse—comments.  “I’ll go get the doctor.”

 

The nurse leaves and the room is silent for a moment, until Bitty pipes up.  “Kent, don’t you have something to stay to Tater?” he questions.

 

“No,” Kent replies resolutely.  “I’m not going to forgive him, not right now.”

 

“Why?” Tater almost whines, and if Kent wasn’t in pain and pissed off right now, he’d think it was kinda cute.

 

“I don’t accept your reason for the hit,” Kent says.  “I didn’t almost hit Snowy on purpose.  It was an accident so there was no reason to hit me like that.”

 

“You come close to goalie because you try risky play!  I’m not call that accident!”

 

“Sometimes you have to try risky plays to win games,” Kent retorts before adding, “Ow, you’re making my head hurt again.”

 

“Tater,” Jack says, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “You told me yourself last night that you got carried away.  I don’t—I don’t think you should be defending yourself.”

 

Tater sighs.  “You are right,” he says.  “I’m want to defend because I’m feel bad.  If there good reason for hit, then I’m not have to feel so bad but—there is no reason.”

 

“Ahh, Mr. Parson,” a female voice says as she walks into the room.  “I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

 

“Are you the doctor?” Kent asks.

 

She nods.  “I’m Dr. Grant, I’ve been keeping an eye on you since you were brought in.”

 

“Thanks,” Kent mumbles.  “So since you’re the doctor, can you do anything to make this hurt less?”

 

“Well, I could give you some painkillers—”

 

“Oh, yeah, right, that’s really all you can do, isn’t it?” Kent questions with frown.  Dr. Grant nods again.  “That’s um—I think I’m going to pass then.”

 

“Are you sure?” she replies.  “It’s probably going to be a rough couple days without them.”

 

“Yeah,” Kent answers.  “It—I just don’t feel comfortable taking them.”

 

“Okay,” she says, scribbling something down on her clipboard.  “Well, I’ve taken a look at your x-rays and the MRI, and it looks like all you’ve sustained is a very mild concussion and a few broken ribs.”

 

“What does that mean for me getting back on the ice?” Kent asks, feeling his stomach churn at the word “broken.”

 

“The effects of the concussion should subside in two or three days,” she responds.  “But the ribs—you’re looking at 4-6 weeks, honestly.  They’re going to have to heal completely before you can get back to playing.  If you come back before you’re ready, one hit could cause the ribs break again and you don’t want that.”

 

Kent sighs, which is then followed by a cough that hurts so much it makes him feel like he’s going to pass out.  Once the pain subsides, he asks, “So when do I get out of here?”

 

“I think by the end of the day we should be able to release you,” Dr. Grant replies.  “There’s not much we can do for you at this point, you just need time.  That being said, I don’t feel comfortable releasing you unless you have someone who can stay with you for a couple of days.  You’re going to need to have limited screen time for the next day and a half or so, and getting around on your own might be challenging, so I’m not inclined to let you be alone.”

 

Kent thinks over this for a moment.  His mom has work so he can’t ask her to fly out for a few days, his sister is in Germany, which leaves Jack or Bitty, and Jack has games and Bitty has his bakery to run.  Kent squeezes his eyes shut, resigning himself to a few extra days in the hospital.  “I don’t think there’s—”

 

“I’m do it,” Tater injects quickly, and Kent turns his head, furrowing his brow at Tater in confusion.

 

“Tater, I don’t think—” Jack starts to say, but Tater rapidly cuts him off.

 

“I’m have to make up somehow,” Tater protests, looking up at Jack from his chair next to the bed.  “I’m make bad mistake and hurt Kent.  Is my responsibility to take care of him!”

 

“You can’t miss games just to take care of Kent,” Bitty points out, but Tater shakes his head in response.

 

“George call earlier.  Say I’m suspended game for hit,” he explains.

 

“I—well, then I guess it’s up to Kent,” Jack says with a shrug.

 

Kent, when faced with the choice between being kept in the hospital for a few days, or spending that time in his apartment with a guy who, despite his eagerness to make up for his mistake, probably still doesn’t like him (but is at least guilty enough to be nice to him for a while)—well, choosing to have Tater come with him isn’t the ideal choice, but this hospital bed is hard and lumpy.  Not to mention that his apartment sitter is going to be leaving tomorrow, whether Kent shows up or not, which means Kit will be all alone, which means it really isn’t a choice.

 

“It’s fine, I guess,” Kent says emotionlessly, resigning himself to a few horribly uncomfortable days sharing his apartment with Tater.

 

Tater smiles broadly which is—confusing, not just because of the bubble of warmth that rises in his chest, but also because Tater doesn’t like him?  Why does he seem so happy that he said yes?

 

“I will take care of you best, you see!” Tater exclaims before being shushed by everyone in the room (including Dr. Grant).

 

“You’d better,” Kent says just as he yawns.  “But don’t think you’re fooling me for a second.  I know you still don’t like me.  You’re doing this just because you want to make yourself feel better about hurting me.”

 

“That’s not—”

 

“Just let him be,” Bitty sighs.  “You’ll both have plenty of time to argue about this later.”

 

Tater frowns, but nods in agreement anyway.  “Okay,” he responds just as Kent yawns again.  “For now, Kent is tired and must sleep.”

 

“Yeah,” Kent yaws, fading out quickly into sleep without an argument.

* * *

 

When they get back to Kent’s apartment, Kent immediately staggers down the hallway toward his bed.  He’s spent the entire day feeling dizzy and sick and in pain and he’s just so tired.  Falling onto his bed, Kent’s head hits his pillow, and the next thing he knows, he’s waking up at (a quick glance at the alarm clock on his bedside table tells him) 5:30 AM.  They didn’t get into Vegas until late, so that means he’s only slept for about 4 hours.  Kent yawns extending his arms for a quick stretch before he rolls over and goes back to sleep, but a jolt of discomfort remind him why that isn’t a good idea.

 

“ _Ouch_ ,” he hisses, sucking a breath in through his teeth.

 

“You okay?” a voice asks him from somewhere on the floor next to his bed.  Kent startles, nearly screaming as he rolls away from the voice and almost falls of the bed.  Someone grabs his arm, pulling him back from the edge of the bed (and fuck that hurt).

 

“Who the fuck are you?!” Kent demands, trying to yank his arm away despite how much pain it causes him.

 

“Shhh, relax,” the figure whispers.  “Is Tater, remember?  I’m come home with you.”

 

“Oh.  Yeah,” Kent says, exhaling in relief.  He’s now awake enough to remember him, though the only reason he didn’t remember was because he had been too panicked to think.

 

“You okay?” Tater repeats.

 

Kent doesn’t know what to say.  He’s definitely in a lot of pain at the moment, but there’s not much Tater can do about that.  So Kent nods because that seems like the best answer.  “I’m—yeah, I’m fine,” he says, still breathing heavily as his fight or flight reaction is still in high gear.  “I just—you startled me.  I’m just—how did you get in here so fast?”

 

“You fall asleep before I can ask,” Tater says, wringing his hands nervously, and Kent wonders what he could be nervous about?  Not asking about whether he can use his super human hearing?  “I’m set up on floor for tonight so I can be near in case you need.  Unless—unless you are not okay with this?”

 

Kent purses his lips, furrowing his brow as he looks at Tater.  “It’s—I don’t care,” he says after a moment.  “It’s just—you’re taking this ‘taking care of me’ thing awfully seriously and I—I know that this is probably making you uncomfortable since you don’t like me all the much so I just want you to know that you don’t have to go this far,” he continues, nervously rambling the longer he examines Tater through the darkness (there’s just something about his eyes that makes Kent feel unsettled).

 

“I’m not uncomfortable.  I’m not understand why you think I’m not want to do this for you,” he says, and for a moment, as their eyes remain locked, Kent wants to believe that Tater’s motivations are genuine.

 

He wants to believe that Tater isn’t uncomfortable, that he’s doing this because he wants to, not because he feels he has to, but Tater’s scowl is still too fresh in his mind, and every fresh ache reminds him of what Tater did to him.  Anything he thinks he’s seeing has to be something he’s fabricating in his mind.  He still has a crush on Tater, and for some reason, his heart still wants to keep that alive.  But his head knows what Tater did, so he quashes the feeling, tearing his gaze away from Tater.

 

Kent moves to readjust his blankets, waving Tater away when he tries to help.  “I know that you have to make yourself feel better about that hit or whatever,” Kent says, trying to keep his voice as steady and unfeeling as he can manage, even though saying those words make his stomach churn.  “So there’s no reason to put in all this effort.  Just do the bare minimum or whatever.  You don’t have to play this game with me, not when there aren’t other people around.”

 

“I’m not play any game,” Tater protests, trying to reach back in to help Kent.

 

Kent pulls the blankets up to his chin to show Tater he doesn’t need any help at this point.  “Whatever,” he scoffs in response.  “I don’t care, you can stay in here if you feel like it.  I’m exhausted, just let me go back to sleep.”

 

“You not want something?  Pillow?  Painkiller?  Water?” Tater asks.

 

Kent rolls over so his back is to Tater.  “No, I told you I’m fine,” he snaps.  “Just go back to sleep.”

 

“Okay,” Tater says, and he sounds slightly unhappy that Kent is refusing his help, but Kent doesn’t care.  If “helping” him is just some way for Tater to soothe his conscience, like it seems to be, Kent is not going to make it easy for him.  “I’m be here if you need,” Tater adds, a bit of rustling indicating that he’s settling back into his sleeping set up.

 

Kent grunts in acknowledgement.  He lies there, but he can’t really get back to sleep at first.  There’s too much swirling around his head.  He wishes he could just make this crush go away because it’s too dangerous.  He’s been here before.  He’s been in a situation where someone looked genuine on the outside, but he was then burned and burned badly because the guy wasn’t.  He can’t let that happen again, but he can feel himself starting to fall, and he doesn’t know how to stop.

 

Tater said he could have his phone back for a bit in the morning, so he can’t wait for the sun to come up.  He’s got to go to the two people who he thinks can help him the most: Jack and Bitty.

* * *

 

Kent eventually falls asleep, and when he wakes up next, there’s a painful weight on his chest, and he doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know what—or more accurately, _who_ it is.

 

“Kiiiiitttttttt,” Kent groans loudly.  This catches he attention, and she turns her head to look at him for a brief second before she returns to kneading his chest with her paws.  She knows that this is what normally forces him to get up first thing in the morning, but this is not any normal morning.  Right now, he’s not going anywhere because fuck, that really hurts and he can’t really move (also when did Kit get this fat?).  “Tater!” Kent gasps as Kit continues to (painfully) massage his chest.

 

Heavy footsteps being to pad down the hall (thank God Tater heard him, because at the moment he can’t really breathe), and after a second, Tater appears in the door way.  “Is all okay?” he asks.

 

If he could, Kent would shake his head, but he can’t, so he settles for replying through gritted teeth, “Get.  Her.  Off.  Me.”

 

Tater mutters something under his breath that Kent can’t understand (probably Russian curses) as he crosses from the doorway to his bed.  “Come Kit, must get off Kent,” he says, reaching out to grab her.

 

“I wouldn’t—” Kent starts to say, but before he can finish his warning Kit swipes at Tater.  She catches his arm, and she doesn’t quite draw blood with her claws, but she does considerable damage to Tater’s skin as it immediately turns an angry red.

 

Tater lets loose another string of not understandable curses that he can tell is clearly Russian, but Tater doesn’t retreat.  He grabs Kit around her middle, even as she continues to swipe at his arm and shred it up.  As Tater walks further away from his bedroom, the curses actually become louder (which jeez, Kent knows she doesn’t like being carried, but could she calm the fuck down?) until finally he hears Tater say, in English, “There, that keep you out.”

 

Tater then returns to Kent’s bedroom, face lightly flushed from his battle with Kit.  “So that is famous Kit Purrson?” he says, grinning slightly, though, as Kent’s eyes trail down to Tater’s bright red arms, he had no idea why he’s grinning.

 

“Yeah, that’s—that’s her,” Kent replies sheepishly, embarrassed that she beat Tater up so badly.

 

“I’m follow her Instagram,” Tater says.  “She is very cute kitten.”

 

“I would hardly call her a kitten,” Kent snorts.  “Did you see how fat she is?”

 

“I’m think you not say no to her,” Tater chuckles, and that makes Kent chuckle too.

 

“Yeah, she’s got me wrapped around her finger,” he says with a shrug.

 

“Is not bad thing.  You not have anyone else to spoil,” Tater replies.  “She is deserving to be spoiled.”

 

Kent frowns.  “Well she can be quite the little shit sometimes,” he says.  “Like right now.”  He reaches out and grabs Tater’s wrist, pulling him closer so he can examine his arm.  “ _Fuckin’ hell,_ Kit,” he mumbles, observing that some of Tater’s scratches are deep enough that he’s bleeding.

 

“Not worry about me,” Tater shrugs, pulling his arm back.  “I’m have worse before.  But you okay?”

 

“I’m fine now,” Kent replies dismissively before asking incredulously, “What do you mean you’ve had worse!  It looks like she scratched all the skin off your fucking arm!”

 

Tater doesn’t say anything, he just shrugs again, turning to walk out of the room.

 

“Oh my fu—let me take care of it,” Kent says.

 

Tater stops and turns back.  “Is no need—” he starts to say, but Kent interrupts him.

 

“There’s a first-aid kit in the hallway closet.  Get it and bring it here,” Kent instructs firmly.

 

“Really not—”

 

“Just shut up and let me do it,” Kent snaps at Tater as he continues to stare at his scratched up arms, though he snaps because he angry at Kit, not him.  “She’s my cat and I’m responsible for her doing this.  Besides, she’s scratched me up more times than I can count.  I’m pretty sure I know what to do and you fucking don’t.”

 

“Okay, I’m get kit,” Tater says, and his expression looks exasperatedly fond for some mysterious reason.

 

Tater is back after a short time, carrying the kit with him.  He walks over to the side of the bed, handing the kit to Kent, but he stays standing next to the bed.  Kent huffs and rolls his eyes.  “Sit down, you giant,” he says.  “You’re too tall, I can’t easily reach you from here.”

 

“You want me to sit on bed?” Tater asks hesitantly.

 

His hesitation is—curious, to say the least, and he’d like to know why, but those cuts are screaming at him; they really need to get cleaned because Kent has no idea the last time his floors were cleaned, so who knows what kind of nasty shit was trapped in her claws.

 

“Yep, there’s plenty of room,” Kent says, shaking it off as he sits up and crosses his legs, undoing the latches and opening the kit.  “Pop a squat.”

 

“Pop a squat?”

 

“ _Jeez_ , just sit down, okay?” Kent sighs.

 

Tater nods and sits down in front of Kent, cross-legged as well.  Kent grabs the bottle of antiseptic and a few cotton balls and wetting them.  Tater’s hands are folded in his lap, and Kent can’t help sighing again.  “I need your arms,” he says.

 

“Oh,” he replies, extending an arm for Kent to work on.  Kent barely touches Tater’s arm with one of the swabs, and Tater inhales sharply and recoils.

 

“Yeah it hurts,” Kent states unsympathetically.  “But if you had listened to me when I tried to tell you not to pick her up, we wouldn’t be here.”

 

“How I’m supposed to get her off if I’m not pick up?” Tater asks as Kent yanks his arm back.

 

Kent shrugs.  “You just gotta like, push her forcefully,” he explains.

 

“You think she not scratch me then?” Tater inquires.

 

“I dunno,” Kent answers.

 

“Is anything more I’m need to know?  I’m want to get along with Kit,” Tater says and that’s touching—and unusual.  Kit doesn’t like most people, even his friends and normal housesitter, so by now, they don’t even bother to make an effort with her.  She’s Kent’s darling and his only.  Everyone else leaves her alone.  Well, other than Tater, the person she’s attacked more viciously than anyone else, and—Kent shivers slightly—there was _him_.

 

“There’s not really anything you can do,” Kent lies without looking up from his work on Tater’s arm.  “She uh—well, she doesn’t like anyone, but she has like, this sense.  I don’t know how but like, she tends to be super vicious with anyone who doesn’t like me or is like—um, out to get me, I guess?”

 

“How is that relate to me?” Tater asks, and when Kent looks up, he sees that he’s raising an eyebrow quizzically.

 

Kent bites his lip.  “Well it’s just—she wouldn’t do this if she didn’t think you hated me or something, which you do so—”

 

Tater frowns deeply, his arm tensing ever so slightly.  “Kit make mistake.  I’m not hate you.  You say she not like being picked up.  That is why she scratch,” Tater responds, and he sounds so sincere that Kent finds himself wondering where Tater took his acting lessons.  If Kent weren’t already onto him, Tater would have him 100% fooled.

 

But it does make him pause for a second.  Kit loves him, and yet she would probably scratch him like this if he tried to pick her up.  That means he can’t know for sure whether it’s because Kit thinks Tater doesn’t like him, or if it’s just because she doesn’t like being picked up.  The first explanation is certainly more convenient, but the second could be more likely.

 

But just because it could be more likely, it doesn’t mean that it is the actual explanation, and he ignored her warnings once, and he’s not doing it again.  So he’s going with the first option—anything that might help him to keep from falling.

 

Kent shakes his head in response to Tater.  “I don’t think she’s mistaken,” he says as he tosses the first-aid equipment back in the kit, having finished with Tater’s arms.  “You may be able to fool pretty much everyone else with your fake sincerity, but she can see right through you.”

 

“I’m be sincere,” Tater replies, voice wavering almost imperceptibly, and if Kent didn’t know any better, he’d think Tater was hurt.

 

“Yeah sure, whatever,” Kent quips dismissively, because he does know better.  “I’m trying to give you outs here, but if you want to keep playing this game, that’s your choice.”

 

“Is not—” Tater starts to object, but Kent doesn’t want to hear it.

 

“Can I have my phone back for a while?” Kent interrupts, holding out his hand expectantly.

 

“I’m prove that I’m not play game,” Tater says, and he’s looking at Kent with such intensity that Kent can’t bear to meet his eye.  If he does, Tater’s act might just win him over and he can’t allow that to happen.

 

“I just want my phone,” Kent replies quietly, and Tater sighs, gazing at him for a long moment before getting up and walking over to his bag, digging it out of one of the pockets.

 

“I’m bring you something to eat in few minutes,” he says as he places the phone in Kent’s hand.

 

“Whatever,” Kent says absentmindedly, too busy unlocking his phone and opening up messages.

 

**Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

**_Kent:_ ** _I’m so fucking fucked_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Cool_

**_Kent:_ ** _I’m serious_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Tater is actually amazing_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And I think my crush is getting stronger_

**_Bitty:_ ** _And you’re telling me this because…?_

**_Kent:_ ** _His acting is unreal_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’m about *this* close to being fooled into thinking he wants to be here helping me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Too much longer and my crush won’t be a crush_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’m gonna fucking be in love_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Which is a terrible situation_

**_Jack:_ ** _Wait, you’re talking about Tater?_

**_Kent:_ ** _Yeah_

**_Jack:_ ** _My teammate Tater?_

**_Kent:_ ** _The same_

**_Jack:_ ** _You’re kidding me, right?_

**_Kent:_ ** _I’m having a serious crisis_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Why would I kid you_

**_Jack:_ ** _Kent._

 **_Jack:_ ** _Tater can’t act._

 **_Jack:_ ** _He doesn’t even have a poker face._

**_Bitty:_ ** _Speaking of which_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _We should invite him over to play cards soon_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I’m in need of some extra spending money_

**_Jack:_ ** _I have plenty of money._

 **_Jack:_ ** _You could always just ask.  I would be happy to give it to you. <3_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Listen, I know that_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _But getting it from you is not nearly as much fun as winning it from Tater_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Because he has no idea how terrible he is omfg_

**_Kent:_ ** _GUYS_

 **_Kent:_ ** _FOCUS_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I DESPERATELY NEED YOUR HELP_

**_Bitty:_ ** _How_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I’m still not seeing a problem here_

**_Kent:_ ** _Listen_

 **_Kent:_ ** _If I don’t figure out what to do soon_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’m going to fall in love with a guy who’s only pretending not to hate me_

**_Bitty:_ ** _I’m_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Did you not read what Jack said_

**_Kent:_ ** _I did_

**_Bitty:_ ** _And what did you get out of it_

**_Kent:_ ** _I know what you want me to think_

 **_Kent:_ ** _That what I’m seeing is how he really feels_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But I’m telling you that you’re wrong_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Kit just shredded up his arm_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And she only does that to people she can sense don’t like me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _So I swear he’s just acting_

**_Jack:_ ** _You’re going to base this assessment of him off your cat._

**_Bitty:_ ** _When she certainly could be wrong_

**_Kent:_ ** _How dare you_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Kit is a perfect angel who has never been wrong in her life_

**_Bitty:_**  


**_Kent:_ ** _WOULD YOU STOP USING THAT_

 **_Kent:_ ** _THAT MEME IS SO OLD_

**_Bitty:_ ** _THIS MEME IS LITERALLY TIMELESS BYE_

**_Kent:_ ** _I’m going to block you_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Then who will help your sorry ass with your problems :)_

**_Kent:_ ** _So you’re going to help me_

**_Bitty:_ ** _When you need it_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Which you currently don’t_

**_Kent:_ ** _DAMMIT YES I DO_

**_Jack:_ ** _I don’t believe Kit because I know Tater.  All I see happening here is you falling for someone who might be falling for you too._

**_Bitty:_ ** _Which I’d hardly call a problem_

**_Kent:_ ** _Literally bye_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Thanks for not being any help at all_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Any time :)_

Kent puts down his phone, because he knows that he has limited time on it, and he doesn’t want to waste all the time he has today dicking around on social media.

 

He sniffs the air; a few minutes ago, he thought he could catch a whiff of something cooking, something that smelled pretty good.  Now all he can smell is something burning.

 

“Tater?” Kent calls out cautiously, not wanting to startle Tater into thinking something is wrong with him, but not content to just wonder at what is happening out in his kitchen.

 

“Everything be fine!” Tater responds immediately, which is instantly suspicious, because Kent didn’t ask anything.  “Are you needing something?” Tater adds hurriedly, as if he just realized this himself.

 

Slowly, Kent sits up and swings his legs off the bed.  When he stands up, the room begins to spin and he stumbles into the wall across from his bed, hitting it with a dull thump.

 

“Kent?” Tater calls, and Kent remembers that he never answered Tater’s question.

 

“I’m uh—” Kent squeezes his eyes shut, willing the room to stop spinning.  This doesn’t make any sense.  He could sit up in bed without an issue, but now he wants to walk and he feels nauseous and dizzy.

 

“Why you up?” Tater asks, and Kent grimaces.  He was too slow to respond, and he worried Tater.

 

“I just—I wanted to check on you,” Kent says as Tater puts an arm around him and guides him back to the bed.  “You sounded—or um, smelled like you were—you were having trouble.”

 

“I’m not have trouble,” Tater protests.

 

“That burning smell tells me a different story,” Kent says, feeling better now that he’s back in bed.  Kent opens his eyes again, and sees that Tater’s face is bright red.

 

He sighs, his shoulders falling.  “I’m not cook well,” he says, glancing back toward the kitchen.  “I’m use service for meals at home.  But I’m decide that I’m try for Kent since it look like you make own food.  Was going well but I’m decide to make toast to go with eggs and then—things not go well.”

 

Kent peers at Tater, not sure what to think about the admission.  He just embarrassed himself by telling Kent he can’t even make eggs, but Kent can’t figure out what that accomplishes.  But his stomach growls loudly, and suddenly he’s not really concerned with what the answer to that question is.

 

“Maybe you should just get takeout,” Kent suggests, because that’s the only option here if Tater can’t cook, since he’s not getting out of bed to cook any time soon.

 

“Yes, probably good idea,” Tater mumbles, his face still blazing as he stands up.  “I’m go and make phone call.”

 

“There are numbers for a couple of places I use pretty often on the fridge,” Kent says before Tater exits the room.

 

“Okay,” Tater responds as Kent picks his phone back up.

 

**Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

**_Kent:_ ** _Okay why didn’t you fuckers warn me that Tater can’t cook for shit_

**_Bitty:_ ** _LOL_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I FORGOT_

**_Jack:_ ** _I didn’t know._

**_Bitty:_ ** _Oh lord_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _He’s a catastrophe_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _He can’t even make eggs without burning them_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Not even Derek “human disaster” Nurse can manage to do that_

**_Kent:_ ** _Okay ngl_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Seeing him being all sheepish about how he was trying to cook even though he can’t was a little cute_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But that’s not going to feed me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Goodbye guys_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’m going to starve to death_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Stop being dramatic™_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Plenty of places deliver_

**_Kent:_ ** _BUT I’M SO HUNGRY RIGHT NOW_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Well if you’re THAT hungry_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You could always have_

**_Kent:_ ** _Don’t you dare say it_

**_Bitty:_ ** _A little potato ;)_

**_Kent:_ ** _Bye_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’m literally blocking you_

**_Jack:_ ** _That was awful._

**_Bitty:_ ** _YOU BOTH CAN SHUSH_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _THAT WAS CLEVER_

**_Jack:_ ** _You’re already starting to refer to things he does as cute though._

 **_Jack:_ ** _I think you’ve already falling, Kent._

**_Kent:_ ** _1-800-DID-IASK_

**_Jack:_** _¯\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/¯_

**_Bitty:_ ** _WHEN DID YOU LEARN TO USE THAT_

**_Jack:_ ** _I had you put it as a shortcut in my phone.  Remember?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Oh yeah_

**_Jack:_ ** _I’m just telling you that you’re probably already screwed, so maybe you should just go for it._

**_Kent:_ ** _Might I direct you to my last text?_

**_Jack:_ ** _He’s at your apartment to take of you, he tried to cook, he’s trying to take care of Kit, etc._

 **_Jack:_ ** _I think you’re being too suspicious of his motives._

 **_Jack:_ ** _Take a chance on this, Kent._

**_Kent:_ ** _Lmaooooo no_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I don’t take chances_

**_Bitty:_ ** _You take plenty of chances on the ice_

**_Kent:_ ** _AGAIN I DIDN’T ASK_

 **_Kent:_ ** _BESIDES I WAS TALKING ABOUT THINGS THAT AREN’T HOCKEY_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But anyway, I don’t take chances anymore_

 **_Kent:_ ** _They don’t work out for me_

**_Jack:_ ** _When have you taken chances?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Just drop it for now honey_

**_Jack:_ ** _Fine._

**_Kent:_ ** _Yesssssss_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He’s finally on my side_

**_Bitty:_ ** _lmao you think I’m done?_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I’m not even close_

**_Kent:_ ** _Rats_

**_Bitty:_ ** _In exchange for Jack’s silence_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You’re going to keep giving us updates_

**_Kent:_ ** _Nah_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I can just ignore Jack_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Rude_

**_Jack:_ ** _Actually it’s fine._

**_Bitty:_ ** _Shush honey_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Fine, if you won’t do that_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Then I’ll just have to text Tater for deets_

**_Kent:_ ** _You wouldn’t dare_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Try me bitch :)_

**_Kent:_ ** _Okay fine_

 **_Kent:_ ** _You win_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’ll text you later_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Good_

 

Kent is just pressing send on his last message to the group when someone (definitely not Tater) shouts from out probably by the kitchen.

 

“DAMN PARSE, THIS ONE IS A REAL CATCH!  I VERY MUCH APPROVE!”

 

Kent’s blood runs cold.  He completely forgot that he uses delivery from all the places on his fridge frequently and as a result, almost all of their delivery people know about him and his (until recently) frequent hookups, because for some reason, they _always_ arrive just as his hookup is leaving.

 

Now, this wouldn’t be a problem if Kent had been the one answering the door, but since he can’t stay steady on his feet, Tater had to be the one to answer the door.  Which means he’s out there with some delivery guy who— _Goddamn fucking **shit**_ —thinks Tater is one of his hookups.

 

Kent picks up one of his pillows and smashes his face into it, half-heartedly wondering if he would be able to suffocate before Tater can come back with the food (never mind that he’s breathing through the pillow just fine).  He feels hot all over, his entire body burning with embarrassment (no he is not thinking about Tater actually being one of his hookups and shut the fuck up, he’s not even the least bit turned on).

 

“Is all okay?” Tater asks as Kent hears his heavy footsteps enter the room.

 

“I’m—I’m so sorry about that!” Kent blurts out, dropping the pillow.  “I didn’t mean to put you in that situation, I just forgot that all these guys know me!”

 

“Is fine,” Tater mumbles, his cheeks as flushed as Kent feels like his are.  “Delivery guy was um—funny.”

 

“I mean, he wasn’t wrong!” Kent’s mouth says without his permission.

 

Tater’s eyes go wide, and Kent’s hands twitch.  He has to fight the urge to pull the blankets up over his head and disappear.  As it is, he keeps his eyes fixed anywhere but on Tater.

 

“I’m agree with delivery person and Kent,” Tater says, and it sounds like he’s grinning (damn his mouth).

 

“I mean, it’s just an objective thing,” Kent babbles on, because apparently he wants to dig this hole deeper.  “I’m not saying I personally think you’re hot or whatever, it’s just a fact that every one can see but—”

 

“Oh.  I’m see,” Tater interrupts, his voice falling.  “Anyway, is lunchtime so I’m get Chinese.  I’m not know what you want, so I’m get one of everything.  And extra egg rolls.  But all I’m have here is yours.  I’m take out mine out already.”

 

Without another word, Tater unceremoniously drops the bag on his bed and retreats back toward the kitchen.

 

“Shit,” Kent mutters under his breath as he leaves the food where it is, eschewing it in favor of sending Bitty and Jack a few more texts.

 

**Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

**_Kent:_ ** _I want to crawl into a hole and die_

**_Jack:_ ** _Whatever just happened, I’m sure it’s not that bad._

**_Bitty:_ ** _YAAASSSSS STORYTIME STORYTIME STORYTIME_

**_Kent:_ ** _I forgot all the food places have delivery guys that know me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _So the guy that just came here thought Tater was one of my hookups_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He called him a catch_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And when I tried to apologize to Tater_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I said I agreed with the delivery guy_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I mean I took it back but I still put it out there on accident_

 **_Kent:_ ** _One of you needs to come out here and shoot me pls_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Wow you have rep with the restaurant delivery guys_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You’re such a hoe_

**_Kent:_ ** _I KNOW I AM OKAY_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I JUST NEVER THOUGHT THAT WOULD COME BACK TO BITE ME IN THE ASS_

**_Jack:_ ** _I don’t think you need one of us to shoot you.  Tater probably thought it was hilarious._

**_Kent:_ ** _I didn’t hear any laughing_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And he was red as a tomato when he brought me my food_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Dropped the bag on the bed when I finished apologizing and then bolted_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He was just so weirded out_

**_Bitty:_ ** _May I possibly offer another explanation for his reaction?_

**_Kent:_ ** _No you may not_

**_Bitty:_ ** _BUT_

**_Kent:_ ** _I SAID NO_

 **_Kent:_ ** _HE WAS WEIRDED OUT_

 **_Kent:_ ** _END OF STORY_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Boi_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _When will you open your eyes_

**_Kent:_ ** _Listen_

 **_Kent:_ ** _You saw how he reacted to me in ur room_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I think I’m reading this situation perfectly_

**_Bitty:_ ** _I disagree_

**_Kent:_ ** _Well ur opinion doesn’t matter here_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Alrighty then_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Bye Felicia_

 

“You not hungry?” Tater asks, and Kent fumbles with his phone, surprised because he didn’t think he’d be coming back to his room any time soon.  Tater’s face is back to his normal skin tone, and he’s smiling like usual, but there’s a look in his eyes that make it seem strained to Kent.

 

“N-no, I am, I was just—I was uh—I was texting my mom,” Kent says, stuttering because he still feels extremely awkward.  “I was just t-telling her how I’m doing, you know?”

 

Tater nods.  “I’m understand,” he says.  “But you not eat since lunch yesterday.  You be needing food to heal fast,” he adds sternly, walking over to Kent’s bed and, Kent just notices that he’s carrying a plate of food, probably his own.  “You want company?” Tater asks, and Kent wasn’t expecting that.

 

“I gue—I mean, whatever,” Kent says, trying to feign nonchalance.  “As long as you’re fine with it or whatever.”

 

“I’m be fine if you be fine,” Tater answers with a shrug.  “But before you decide, know I’m need phone back.  You’ve been on as long as doctor say to allow.”

 

“That’s—okay yeah, you can sit here with me,” Kent says, because otherwise, eating lunch is going to be boring by himself.  Not that he thinks they’ll be sharing much conversation, but still.

 

“Then I’m stay,” Tater says as he sits down.  “Now eat.”

 

“I’m eating, okay?” Kent huffs, snatching up the bag with his food in it.  “You can stop asking me now.”

 

“Okay, I’m stop,” Tater says, grinning for a second before he picks up his fork and starts eating off his plate.  Kent follows suit, pulling out the first container and ripping it open because he’s actually fucking _starving_.

 

They eat mostly in silence.  Tater keeps opening his mouth like he’s going to say something, and Kent waits for him to speak before he shovels in another bite of food, but he never does.  Kent guesses that he has no idea what to say that doesn’t make things any weirder than they already are.  That’s why he's staying silent.

 

About an hour later, when Kent has finished demolishing most of the food Tater bought (he was really that hungry), he catches a whiff of something foul-smelling.  Chinese food tends to have distinctive flavors and smells, but this doesn’t seem to be coming from the food.

 

Crinkling up his nose, Kent asks, “What’s that smell?”

 

Tater frowns and shrugs.  “I’m not smell anything,” he answers.

 

“Hmm,” Kent hums questioningly, just as he’s starting to feel aware of how sticky and oily his skin feels.  Subtly, Kent attempts to sniff at his armpit and ends up retching painfully (yeah, the stench is that vile).  “Oh God, that’s me,” he groans.

 

“Oh,” Tater says, poking at the last few grains of rice left on his plate.  “Make sense I’m guess.  I’m not sure if you get shower since before game.”

 

“Okay, that’s fucking gross,” Kent says, pinching his nostrils closed.  “I’m taking a shower this fucking second.”

 

Tater’s cheeks are starting flush red as he looks up from his plate at Kent.  “You sure you want to do now?” he asks.

 

Tater’s blushing is odd, and it probably should give him pause, but right now he can’t think about anything other than how filthy he feels.  “Um _yeah_ ,” Kent says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  “I feel too disgusting to just keep sitting here.”

 

Kent stands up and starts walking toward the bathroom, and he makes it a few steps further than he did earlier, but then the room starts to spin again, and the floor begins to feel unsteady under his feet.  Kent throws his hands out in front of him, hoping to prevent a repeat of his earlier slamming into the wall.  The first thing he contacts, however, are Tater’s arms.

 

“You _sure_?” Tater repeats as Kent screws his eyes shut, because the whirling of his room is making him feel like he’s might to throw up.

 

“I— _fuck_ ,” Kent murmurs, leaning into Tater’s solid frame.

 

“I’m think you should get back in bed,” Tater says quietly, putting a hand on Kent’s back to give him more support to stay upright.

 

“But I feel so gross,” Kent almost whines, at the same time observing that Tater smells so fresh and clean and _nice_ —he must have already showered today, which only makes Kent want to shower more.

 

“Maybe you change clothes and feel better,” Tater suggests, trying to guide Kent back to his bed.

 

Kent shakes his head.  “Taterrrr, I want a shower,” he says (and this time, he does whine).

 

“But you cannot stand by self,” Tater points out.

 

Kent frowns.  “I’ll—I’ll manage,” he says, placing his hands on Tater’s (again, very solid) chest.  He pushes back so he’s not leaning into him.  He then opens his eyes, finding to his mild surprise that the room has stopped spinning.

 

“Kent—”

 

Taking a few tentative steps in an attempt to prove to Tater that he’s fine, Kent stops, then turns back and says, “See, no problem, I’ll be just—”

 

He doesn’t get to finish his statement before another dizzy spell hits him.  This time, Tater is there immediately, putting his hands on Kent’s shoulders to steady him, just as Kent grabs Tater’s side in attempt to do the same.

 

“You not okay to take shower on own,” Tater says gently but firmly.

 

“I’m taking a shower, Tater,” Kent asserts, digging in his proverbial heels.  “Either I’m doing it by myself, or you’re going to help me.”

 

“I’m—”

 

Tater hesitates, and Kent isn’t feeling dizzy at the moment, so he can think enough for it to hit him why Tater seems to be reluctant to just help him, even though that seems to be the obvious solution to the current problem.  Because helping him means that Tater will have to _get in the shower with him_.  Which, when you consider the fact that Tater hates him, not to mention the events of the day so far, doing so would probably make Tater feel so, so weird (though to be fair, Kent would feel weird too).

 

“Wait um—I mean, that’s probably weird, right?” Kent quickly interjects, trying to mercifully save them both.  “Let’s just do the clothes thing and—”

 

Tater shakes his head, frowning deeply, looking almost offended by Kent’s assessment of the situation as weird.  “Is not weird for me,” he says.  “I’m be fine.  I’m just think you not want help.”

 

“Okay listen, normally I wouldn’t want any help at all,” Kent says, smoothing back his hair and scowling when he feels just how matted and stringy it is from all the oils and sweat in it.  “But like, this is a desperate situation.  You don’t know how nasty I feel right now.”

 

“Okay, then we—”

 

“But you don’t have to pretend like it’s not weird because it definitely is,” Kent continues over him, word vomiting because he’s coming to the understanding it’s just going to be the two of them, Kent and Alexei fucking Mashkov naked in the shower together.  “I mean you don’t even like me and now you have to strip down and get in the shower with me I mean that’s definitely gotta have your stomach feeling a little bit unsettled I know mine is although that could just be the dizziness I mean what I didn’t say I was nervous I’m perfectly fine there’s no need to worry about me you can just stand there and close your eyes and pretend I’m not there—”

 

“Stop talking and get out of clothes,” Tater says tersely, voice strained and his jaw clenched as he turns on the water (Kent was so busy babbling that he hadn’t noticed they were walking to the bathroom).

 

Kent sits down on the toilet across from the tub, since he seems to not be dizzy when he’s sitting down.  “Um—yeah okay, of course,” he says, biting down hard on his lip.

 

Water falls from the faucet, pounding on the floor of the tub, and small, wispy puffs of steam emanate from the drops as they tumble toward the ground.  The bathroom’s overhead fan whirrs, drawing the same steam out of room, venting into the air outside the building.  But even as it removes the steam from the room, the fan does nothing to help the thick, oppressive, almost suffocating feeling that seems to have settled over the room.

 

“Clothes,” Tater repeats, and Kent realizes he hasn’t moved since he sat down, so he goes to work trying to pull his shirt off.  But he winces when he tries to raise his arms, as the muscles in his chest scream at him angrily.  Tater notices his face, and moves to squat down in front of Kent (and the image that his brain is procuring in reaction to that needs to just fucking not right now).  “Getting off will probably hurt, but I’m try to be gentle,” Tater says quietly, his voice barely audible over the hissing and drumming of the water.

 

Kent swallows hard and nods, trying to put all of his energy into willing his body not to react.  But Tater’s large hands slide under the hem of his shirt, and Kent shivers.  Tater either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, because he doesn’t stop working on Kent’s shirt.

 

Tater’s hands are all over him, and Kent is literally trying to imagine the least sexy thing he can think of to keep from getting a boner (like his mom having sex or something), because he can’t pretend that he hasn’t fantasized about having Tater’s hands all over him.  Once Tater gets one arm out of the sleeve, Kent’s shirt comes off easily.  Even though the dark bruising on his chest is kind of sickening, Kent is thankful it’s there.  Otherwise his chest would be flushed bright red for Tater to see.

 

Kent sits still for a moment, trying to will his body to calm down.  But then Tater puts his hands on the waistband of Kent’s sweats and that goes out the window.  Kent panics and swats them away, because he doesn’t need Tater’s hands _anywhere_ _near_ that part of his body.  “I can do that myself,” Kent says, his voice cracking from the strain he’s putting himself under.

 

“Okay,” Tater mumbles, and his face is a deep scarlet color, but then again, the bathroom _has_ gotten very warm.

 

As Kent slowly takes off his sweatpants, Tater pulls off his shirt and jeans and steps into the shower, leaving his boxer briefs on (which thank God, Kent does want to know what would happen if he took them off and showed him what was underneath).  Kent however, has to strip off his boxers, but before he does, he throws up a prayer to any deity that might be out there listening, asking desperately for his dick to behave.  Then he pulls them off, takes a deep breath, and steps into the shower.

 

It’s just his luck that another dizzy spell would hit him as his feet hit the wet floor of the tub, and Kent ends up stumbling into Tater.  Tater reacts quickly, wrapping his arms around him and holding him in a bear hug until he stops feeling dizzy.

 

“I’m uh—” Kent says, his voice cracking and jumping an octave as he registers Tater’s arms.  He clears his throat and pushes Tater back.  Tater lets him go, and Kent steps back into the stream of water coming from the showerhead.  Resisting the urge to cover himself with his hands, Kent says, “I can do this by myself, okay?  Just um—I just need you to make sure I don’t fall.”

 

Tater nods curtly, resolutely looking at a tile on the wall behind Kent instead of looking at him.

 

Kent turns around and leans over to pick up the bar of soap when another fucking dizzy spell hits him and Tater’s hands are on him, splaying across his hip bones to keep him from smashing head-first into the tile wall and God fucking dammit he hates concussions.

 

Tater pulls Kent back up into his body.  “Maybe I should—” he says, and Kent feels his chest rumbling against his back as he speaks.

 

“I’ve got it fucking handled,” Kent snaps.  This is already so, so much for him, and it’s taking all his energy and willpower to keep it together.  Tater rubbing his hands all over his body would simply be too much.

 

“Okay,” Tater says, releasing Kent.  First, though, he reaches around him and picks up the bar of soap, handing to him as he lets go.

 

Kent begins to work on scrubbing his body down as Tater stands stoically off to the side and out of the way, only interfering by grabbing Kent’s arm when he thinks Kent might be getting dizzy and would be in danger of falling.  It ends up being a slow and arduous process because moving hurts, and it seems like he’s getting dizzy every thirty seconds.  By the time he’s finished washing his body, Kent is exhausted.

 

Knowing that he’s tired, and that he can’t really raises his hands over his head, Tater steps in front of Kent, grabbing the bottle of shampoo.

 

“I’m do, yes?” he asks, and Kent nods.

 

Tater squeezes some of the liquid onto his hands, working it up into lather before stepping closer to Kent to slowly massage it into his hair.  They’re standing only inches apart, and Kent can’t help groaning slightly as Tater massages his scalp, because his hands are like, magical.  Kent watches as Tater clenches his jaw, and he that tiny motion alone causes him to feel a strong, nearly irresistible urge to grab Tater’s face and kiss him.  Kent’s hands twitch at his sides, and he’s about to reach out, but then he starts to feel woozy again.

 

Instead of his hands coming up to grab Tater’s face, they latch onto his biceps to keep himself upright.  It serves as a cruel reminder of why this is happening, why Tater is in the shower with him, shampooing his hair.  Tater checked him in the All-Star game.  Checked him so hard that he received a mild concussion and a couple of busted ribs.  Tater checked him because he _hates_ him.

 

The urge to kiss Tater leaves Kent very suddenly, leaving in its place, a hollow feeling in his chest.  “Are you done?” Kent asks, and Tater nods.  Kent steps back into the water and rinses the shampoo out of his hair.  Normally, he’d also put in conditioner, but right now he’d like to just get out of the shower and back in bed.  His hair is going to suffer, but hey, Tater’s going to be the only one here, and it’s not like he cares.

 

Finished rinsing, Kent turns around and shuts off the water.  Tater pulls back the curtain and Kent steps out, reaching for his towel.  As he does, he yawns loudly.  God, he’s so tired.

 

“You are tired,” Tater says as Kent leans up against the wall, trying to fight off his legs wanting to give out on him.

 

“I’ve got this,” Kent tries to say, but he’s interrupted by another yawn, so instead he nods.  “Yeah, I guess,” he says, feeling his eyelids droop as he yawns for a third time.

 

Tater takes the towel from Kent’s hand and beings to dry him off.  Kent is really too exhausted to protest or care.  Tater is slow and gentle as he runs the towel over Kent’s body, and it’s soft and soothing, and before Kent knows it, his eyes are drifting shut.  Next thing he knows, he’s being laid down into bed, the blankets being pulled up over his body.

 

“Sleep tight,” Tater whispers.  “I’m see you in morning.”

 

Kent yawns and grabs the edge of the blankets, turning on his side in a half-hearted attempt to cocoon himself in them.  “Night,” he replies, judging by Tater’s assertion that he would “see him in the morning” that it’s night, or close to it.

 

“Night,” Tater answers.  Kent thinks he feels a hand sweep his hair back off his forehead, thinks he hears a voice whisper _I’m sorry_ , thinks he feels a soft, barely there kiss planted on his forehead, but then he falls asleep and can’t think about those things any more.

* * *

 

The first thing Kent notices when he wakes up is that he’s not wearing any clothes.  For the first few disorienting seconds, he’s not sure why, until he remembers what happened yesterday.  They were in the shower together and he was naked and Tater was mostly naked and Tater was scrubbing his scalp and Kent almost kissed him.

 

Kent rolls over and half groans, half frustrated-screams into his one of his pillows.  He can’t believe how close he came to fucking himself over.  He almost kissed a guy that actually hates him.  It’s almost like déjà vu, except this time he knows that the guy hates him when before he didn’t…

 

Before he can carry that thought any further, he’s distracted by a loud, angry growl that comes from his stomach.  He only had one meal yesterday, and even though it was a big meal, it still stands as the only one he’s had since he left the hospital.  He would’ve had dinner yesterday, but then all that happened and he was too tired and so it just didn’t happen.

 

But now he’s hungry, so Kent sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.  Kent wonders if he’s going to get dizzy and will need help to get dressed.  He really hopes not, but he does remember the doctor saying the effects of his concussion would last two or three days.  Holding his head in his hands for a long moment, Kent gathers his courage and then stands up, waiting for the spinning feeling to hit him; when it never comes, Kent may or may not fist pump (and his ribs may or may not fiercely remind him that even though his head is better, they are still very much _not_ healed).

 

Gingerly walking over to his dresser, Kent opens up the top drawer and grabs a pair of boxers and sweats (since the ones he wore yesterday were not waiting on the bedroom floor for him to pull back on, like they usually are).  He pulls them on (slowly) without incident, but when he opens the middle drawer and grabs a shirt to put on, he finds that he still can’t really lift his arms above his head, not without his chest protesting the movement vigorously.  Kent huffs and tosses the shirt at the wall, but doesn’t wait to walk out to the living room.  He can do shirtless just fine, that won’t be awkward.

 

When Kent rounds the corner and his couch comes into view, Kent stops, scrubs at his eyes (to make sure he isn’t seeing things), and then very nearly turns around and walks back to his bed, hunger be damned.

 

The reason for that is that the TV is on, softly playing some Russian program (with English subtitles) that Kent assumes is from Netflix, Tater is lying on his back on the couch, eyes closed, and Kit has sprawled out across his chest, and she’s purring low and happy as Tater rubs her belly.  It’s adorable, incredibly domestic, and it looks too much like some vision of Kent’s future that he knows will never exist.  It’s too much; he can’t handle it, so he turns to go back to bed.

 

“Kent, you are awake,” Tater says, and Kent freezes.  He thought that Tater was asleep, but apparently he wasn’t, which means he can’t quickly and easily make his escape, because he’s not sure that he can bear to actually join this scene or be part of it in any way.

 

Kent inhales deeply, running a hand through his hair and mentally preparing himself as he circles back around to face Tater.  “Yeah, I was just—I guess I was feeling kinda hungry,” Kent answers, looking down at his feet instead of the scene in front of him.

 

“I’m figure you wake up soon,” Tater says, pivoting his feet off the couch and sitting up, careful to put his arms under Kit so he can gently lower her into his lap once he’s finished adjusting himself.  “Come sit, we figure out breakfast.”

 

Kent nods.  “Okay,” he says, ambling very deliberately over to the couch.

 

“I’m see you not have problems with be dizzy now,” Tater continues as Kent reaches the couch and perches himself on the opposite end from Tater.

 

“Yeah, not so far anyway,” Kent says, and he hopes it stays that way.  He’d like to be able to walk to the bathroom without help.

 

“Good,” Tater pauses, then asks, “Here, you want Kit?  She seem lonely, like she miss Kent.”

 

Kent looks down at his cat, now curled up in Tater’s lap, her eyes closed as Tater persists with his slow, gentle petting of her thick fur, and he shrugs.  “I don’t know,” he says.  “She looks pretty happy to me.”

 

Tater looks down at her with a sheepish look on his face, his cheeks starting to turn pink.  “I’m keep happy with many treats,” he mumbles.  “She already such fat cat, but is only way I’m keep her from scratch,” he adds, pulling a treat out of his pocket and allowing her to take it.

 

Kent chuckles softly and shakes his head, reaching over to pet her.  “It’s not like you were doing anything I wasn’t already doing,” he explains.

 

“Even if she not scratch, she still want you more,” Tater replies, picking Kit up.  She growls momentarily, but Tater mutters something Kent doesn’t catch, and she stops immediately.  He scoots over and sets her down on his lap (and Kent is honestly suspicious that Tater gave him Kit just so he could move closer).

 

Kit glares up at both of them for a moment, probably also unhappy at being disturbed, but then she settles down into Kent’s lap.  Kent’s hands start to run through her fur, partly because it’s habit when she’s in his lap, and partly because petting Kit is therapeutically distracting him and momentarily clearing his mind of a lot of the shit that’s happened over the last few days.  He’s not entirely sure how long he sits there, eyes closed as he softly pets her, just enjoying the feeling of not having a lot on his mind, but when he finally opens his eyes back up, he notices that Tater’s are fixed on his chest.

 

For a moment, Kent (bizarrely) thinks that Tater might be checking him out, but then Kent glances down at his chest and quickly realizes that he’s staring at the black and blue bruising there, a lingering, outwardly visible reminder of the vicious hit Tater laid on him.  Tater’s face is at once horrified and apologetic.  It reminds Kent of how Tater had looked when he was sitting beside his bed at the hospital, and it once again reminds him of why Tater is even here in the first place—it’s for no other reason than guilt.

 

Tater begins to use one of his fingers to lightly trace the jagged outlines of his bruises, and Kent swears he almost stops breathing.

 

“I’m not mean to hit so hard,” Tater says, his voice barely above a whisper.  “I’m not want to do this to you.  I’m only want to teach you not to mess with my goalie.  I’m really not want to hurt like this.”

 

“You—well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you hit me,” Kent says, and he starts out snapping at him angrily, but it quickly fades into something softer and more forgiving than Kent intended.

 

“Yes, I’m need to think more,” Tater agrees, grabbing Kent’s hand.  He moves so that he’s kneeling directly in front of Kent, looking him directly in the eye.  Kent wants to tear his gaze away, wants to pull his hand back from Tater’s grasp, but he’s mesmerized, hypnotized by Tater’s rusty brown eyes, the way he, if he’s being honest, always has been.  “I’m very sorry,” Tater continues.  “I’m really wish you forgive me.”

 

Kent swallows.  “I—yeah, I forgive you,” he says breathily, feeling once again like he’s being sucked in closer to Tater, and he’s powerless to resist.

 

It feels just like it did yesterday in the shower, and Kent’s eyes flutter shut.  He’s moving to lean in, but Kit paws at his arm, displeased that she’s suddenly being ignored.  She doesn’t really scratch him (much), but it’s forceful enough that it get’s Kent’s attention and breaks him out of his trance.

 

Kent jerks his hand back and they both stand up abruptly.  “Um a-anyway, j-just—just order whatever you w-want,” he stutters, trying to pull his scrambled thoughts together.

 

“Kent—” Tater starts to plead, reaching out to put a hand on Kent’s shoulder, but Kent pushes it away.

 

“I’m suddenly not feeling well,” Kent says, stumbling toward his bedroom in a daze.

 

“Is because you not eat much.  Stay out here and I’m find something from kitchen to hold over,” Tater tries to persuade Kent, but Kent shakes his head and keeps walking.  He can’t stay out here, not with Tater.  Clearly, he can’t be around him without wanting to do something stupid.

 

“Just order something and bring it to me!” Kent yells back from his bedroom.  “I want to lie down right now!”

 

“Kent—” Tater calls after him just as Kent slams his bedroom door shut.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears, clenching his fists at his sides for a long minute, before he pulls his phone out from his sweat pockets, typing out a message as he starts walking to his bed.

 

**Group Chat with Bitty, Jack, and Kent**

**_Kent:_ ** _FUCK SHIT FUCK_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I JUST ALMOST KISSED HIM_

**_Bitty:_ ** _omfg why?_

**_Kent:_ ** _I got up and he was out on the couch_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Kit was stretched out on his chest_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I sat down, we started talking about her_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He set her on my lap and then he started staring at my bruises_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He grabbed my hand and started apologizing again and he sounded so sincere and I was looking into his eyes and I couldn’t help it_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I just started leaning in_

 **_Kent:_ ** _The only reason I didn’t kiss him was because Kit decided she didn’t like being ignored_

 **_Kent:_ ** _FUCKING HELL_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I ALMOST KISSED HIM_

**_Bitty:_ ** _I don’t??? See a problem???_

**_Kent:_ ** _WE’VE BEEN OVER WHY THIS IS A BAD IDEA SO MANY TIMES_

**_Bitty:_ ** _So?_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I remember you basing your entire argument on Kit’s reaction to him_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You just told me she was laying on him no problem_

**_Jack:_ ** _Bits has a point._

**_Kent:_ ** _Stop!_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I can’t do this!_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I can’t let myself think this is possible!_

**_Jack:_ ** _But what if it is possible?_

**_Kent:_ ** _Stop that, it’s really not!_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He doesn’t know me!_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Even if you two are right and he doesn’t hate me, he will once he gets to know me!_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Everyone does!_

 **_Kent:_ ** _So I just can’t_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I can’t let myself get hurt like that_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Not again_

**_Jack:_ ** _You know I didn’t really mean to hurt you like that._

 **_Jack:_ ** _You have to stop letting that stop you from chasing something that might be good._

 

Kent sighs.  He knows that Jack thinks that this is mostly about what they went through.  And while it still is, it’s not the biggest part anymore.  Not since Ryan.

 

The only people Kent has ever told about Ryan are Jeff and Swoops, and that’s only because they came over with wine the two days after it all went down.  They got drunk, Kent cried, they asked him what was wrong, and he’d spilled everything.  He hasn’t really talked about what happened since then, because it’s very painful to think about.

 

He really doesn’t want to talk about it now, but it might be the only way to convince Jack and Bitty to lay off this possible thing with Tater.

 

 **_Kent:_ ** _You don’t understand_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I did try chasing after something good once_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I think it probably had a worse ending than when we ended_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Or at least an ending that hurt more_

**_Jack:_ ** _What are you talking about?_

**_Kent:_ ** _Ryan_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Who tf is Ryan_

**_Kent:_ ** _My most recent ex_

**_Bitty:_ ** _whAT_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _AM I MISSING SOMETHING_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A RECENT EX_

**_Kent:_ ** _It’s been about a year and a half_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I haven’t told many people about him_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Or what happened_

**_Jack:_ ** _What happened?_

**_Kent:_ ** _Okay so as long as I’ve been with the aces_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’ve had a “pr handler”_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Because I’m apparently a loose cannon on social media and no one in management trusts me_

**_Bitty:_ ** _That’s fair_

**_Kent:_ ** _Hush_

 **_Kent:_ ** _No commentary until I finish_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And Ryan was I think the 3rd guy given the job_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It was like a 2 (?) years after that big party_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I was over Jack and ready to move on_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And I had to talk to Ryan a lot and our convos were always kinda flirty_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Like we were walking some line_

 **_Kent:_ ** _idk how to describe it, but it always felt like we were on the verge of something_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And eventually, I said fuck it and asked him out_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He said yes and the first date went well and the second date too_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And before I knew it, we were like, officially a thing_

 **_Kent:_ ** _For like a year or so_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And I fell in love with him, okay?_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It was hard, because I loved him and I was on the road all the time and he was always kinda jittery_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Like he wasn’t out to anyone_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And he was always terrified we’d be found out_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I was already out to the team_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And I was in love and I wanted to talk about him all the time but I couldn’t_

 **_Kent:_ ** _So that was hard too, but I was so fucking careful that I never said anything_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Didn’t say I had a boyfriend_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Didn’t send him non-work texts when the guys were around_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Nothing_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But someone guessed any way_

**_Jack:_ ** _And he blamed you._

**_Kent:_ ** _And he blamed me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Yeah_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And I knew I didn’t do anything wrong_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It wasn’t my fault_

 **_Kent:_ ** _So I refused to apologize and that_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Well it set him off_

 **_Kent:_ ** _We’d had some pretty intense arguments in the past_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But this was nothing like I’d ever seen with him_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And it was just_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It was awful_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He was just slinging all kinds of shit at me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Throwing every mistake I’d made in our relationship at me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Mistakes I’d made when we knew each other but weren’t together_

 **_Kent:_ ** _The things I’d told him about what happened with you_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I let him vent for a bit_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Thinking he’d eventually cool off_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But he just kept going_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And when he started stalking toward me, I lost it_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He looked like he was going to hit me or something and I wasn’t going to let him do that_

__**Kent:** I mean, I don’t know that that’s what he was going to do, but I wasn’t having it anyway_ _

**_Kent:_ ** _So I grabbed him and forced him out of my apartment_

 **_Kent:_ ** _By the next day, he’d already quit and changed his number_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I haven’t seen him since_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It just really hurt_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And it wasn’t like it was with you, Jack_

 **_Kent:_ ** _You never really told me you loved me, and I was never really sure what your feelings really were_

 **_Kent:_ ** _We were drunk so often and I guess there was always this gray area_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And you really didn’t try to hurt me on purpose_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It just happened because you needed to move on and I wasn’t ready_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But this was different_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He told me he loved me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I thought I knew for sure how he felt about me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But for him to say those things and then just leave_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Disappear like what we were never meant anything to him_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Sometimes it still hurts like it happened yesterday_

**_Bitty:_ ** _I’m so sorry Kent_

**_Kent:_ ** _But it just made me realize that I push people_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I push every one_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’m not easy to deal with_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And I tax everyone I have to deal with regularly_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And when you talk about something like a boyfriend_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’m going to screw it up_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’m going to push him past his limit_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And he’s going to realize that I’m just too much to deal with_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He’ll leave_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It’s happened with friends_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It’s happened to me twice in relationships_

 **_Kent:_ ** _It’s just what I do_

 **_Kent:_ ** _And Tater doesn’t deserve that_

 **_Kent:_ ** _No one does_

**_Jack:_ ** _You can’t say that every relationship you’ll have will turn out the same way._

 **_Jack:_ ** _Besides, you can’t count me here. I pushed myself past my breaking point, not you. What happened with you was just a side effect of what I did to myself._

**_Kent:_ ** _Would you say that I pushed you a lot during the course of our relationship?_

**_Jack:_ ** _I guess._

**_Kent:_ ** _So then tell me honestly_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Would it have happened eventually if you hadn’t OD?_

**_Jack:_ ** _Maybe._

**_Kent:_ ** _Exactly_

**_Bitty:_ ** _All you’re telling me is that you haven’t found someone who could handle you yet_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _That doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there who can_

**_Jack:_ ** _I feel like a broken record for repeating this, but you really don’t know Tater._

 **_Jack:_ ** _He’s the most patient person I’ve ever met._

 **_Jack:_ ** _I don’t think you could “break” him, even if you wanted to._

**_Kent:_ ** _If that’s true_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Then explain the bruises on my chest_

**_Jack:_ ** _Kent, that was hockey._

**_Kent:_ ** _It was the ALL-STAR GAME_

**_Bitty:_ ** _You almost took out snowy tho_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _And snowy is like_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Tater’s platonic soulmate_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Tater would do anything to protect him_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _He probably would’ve hit anyone who did what you did_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _The events leading up to that hit were irrelevant_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _And also have nothing to do with now_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _He probably doesn’t even think about it when he’s talking to you_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _He ain’t gonna hold onto that_

**_Kent:_ ** _Maybe not_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But I’m still 99.99% sure he hates me_

**_Jack:_ ** _Or do you just want to think he hates you so you don’t have to feel guilty about not taking the chance here?_

_**Kent:** I can’t answer that_

**_Kent:_ ** _I can’t do this right now_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I’ve gtg_

* * *

 

Kent spends the rest of the day hiding out in his room.   Tater comes in a few times to bring him food and to check and see if he needs anything, but Kent tries to not look up from his phone or say more than a few words to him.  He spends most of his time responding to comments on his and Kit’s Instagrams, sending out a couple tweets, and scrolling the dash of his secret hockey Tumblr blog (he keeps it secret from everyone; Aces management would have a conniption if they knew he had it).

 

He continues this pattern through the next day, because avoiding his problems is what he’s really good at until, some time around dinnertime, Tater comes into his room.  Kent grunts an acknowledgement to him without looking up, holding out his hand, assuming that Tater is bringing him food.  Instead, Tater pulls his phone from his other hand.

 

“The fuck?” Kent hisses, looking up at Tater with a scowl.

 

Tater seems unfazed and undeterred by Kent’s angry reaction.  “You come out and watch game while I’m make dinner,” he says.

 

Kent crosses his arms and huffs (and he knows he’s coming across like a petulant child, but he doesn’t care).  “And what if don’t want to?”

 

“Then you sit here by self without phone,” Tater says, shrugging.  “Is your choice.”

 

Kent sits there for a minute, and until Tater shrugs and turns to leave.  “Alright _fine_ , I’m coming,” Kent grumbles as he pushes the duvet off his legs.  “Jerk,” he adds under his breath.  Doesn’t Tater know that he’s trying to avoid interacting with him at all costs?

 

“I’m hear that,” Tater says, and when Kent catches his eye, he expects him to be angry since, you know, he just called him a jerk.  Instead the corner of his mouth is turned up in a slight grin, and there’s like, a goddamn sparkle in his eye, as if he finds Kent’s mini-tantrum incredibly amusing.

 

“Whatever,” Kent replies, stomping past him, mostly because he literally cannot maintain eye contact with him any longer if he wants to keep up his irritated façade.  Kent walks out and plops down on the couch, and the cushions make a satisfying whoosh as he sinks into them, as if the furniture is protesting Tater along with him.

 

“I’m guess you want to watch Aces?” Tater asks, not seeming to notice as he picks up the remote and flips the TV on.

 

Kent rolls his eyes.  “Uhhhh—yeah.  _Duh_.”

 

Tater laughs softly.  “I’m figure it was stupid question,” he says, and Kent doesn’t understand.  He’s being as flippant as possible, and Tater simply finds it entertaining.  “I’m be back shortly.  Must finish dinner.”

 

Kent sits up.  “Woah, what do you mean _finish_?” he questions worriedly.  “Please don’t tell me you fucked up my kitchen again.”

 

Tater laughs again, patting Kent on the shoulder almost patronizingly.  “No, I’m not destroy,” he says.  “I’m make this before.  I’m know how to do.”

 

“Oh really?” Kent inquires, narrowing his eyes on Tater because he’s not really sure he believes him.

 

Tater’s eyes widen slightly and he blushes, lowering his head to look down at his feet.  “I’m not make before—I’m have—I’m know idea of how to make,” he mumbles.  “But I’m—I’m need get help to do.”

 

“Oh, okay.  I’m sure Bitty would help you,” Kent says, deciding that he can’t convince Tater not to try because Tater looks so bashful and adorable and he can’t handle it.  Instead, he turns his attention to the TV.

 

“I’m already ask,” Tater says.

 

Kent nods in approval.  “Good,” he replies.  “Well I—I guess you better get back to it.”

 

The puck drops for the opening faceoff, and Kent pushes Tater out of his mind in favor of hockey (that’s another thing he’s very good at—or is it the same thing?  He’s not sure, but whatever it is, he’s been doing it for years).

 

Midway through the first period, with the Aces playing like shit and already down 1-0, Tater comes out to the living room carrying two bowls, both filled with some thick, red liquid.

 

“What the fuck are you doing you clumsy fucker?!?!?!?!?” Kent yells at the TV when Swoops loses the puck on their side of the ice.  “I fucking swear to God they’re all lost without me,” he mutters under his breath as the Panthers capitalize and slap the puck past Felix into the goal and extend their lead to 2-0.

 

“Is likely not easy to lose leader,” Tater muses, setting down a plate on the coffee table in front of Kent before retreating to the armchair across the room (and no, he doesn’t feel a pang of guilt and regret over Tater feeling like he can’t sit next to him, shut up).  “I’m never have to do, but I’m can imagine.”

 

“You think they’d be better than this though,” Kent grumbles, shaking his head.  “We’re in fucking first place, but the way they’re playing, you’d think we were like, the fucking Schooners or something.”

 

“Panthers are not bad team,” Tater points out.  “They have 47 points, I’m think.”

 

Kent shakes his head again.  “Whatever,” he responds dismissively, reaching out and picking up the bowl.  It’s some kind of soup that Kent doesn’t really recognize, but that’s not too remarkable consider how bland his diet usually is (he eats a lot of take out and chicken, okay).  Still, he usually makes a point of knowing what he’s eating.  “What is this?” he asks.

 

“Is borscht,” Tater says.  “Mama make for me often when I’m young.  She send me her recipe to try.”

 

Kent shrugs.  “Cool,” he says, grabbing the spoon, scooping up some, blowing on it for a second to cool it of before he and puts it in his mouth.  It—well, it has a very tart kind of taste, and Kent feels his face pucker up in response.

 

“It—well, it not for everyone,” Tater says, his face falling slightly.  “But I’m like very much.  Remind me of home and being child.”

 

“Oh yeah, no, I wouldn’t say it’s bad at all!” Kent insists hurriedly (curse his face and sour intolerance), because it isn’t, it’s just not what he’s used to.  Tater apparently put a lot of time and effort into making this for him, and he doesn’t want Tater to think he doesn’t like it.  “It’s just not like anything I’ve had before and I’m—I’m adjusting to the taste.”

 

Tater frowns and stands up, reaching out and moving toward him.  “Is okay.  You not have to be nice if you not like,” he says dejectedly.  “I’m already get something else just in case.”

 

“Nope, nuh-uh, I’m eating this,” Kent replies, holding the bowl as far away from Tater as he can manage without spilling it.

 

“Really Kent—”

 

“Look, you put all this effort into making this,” Kent snaps somewhat irritatedly.  “And it’s a dish that means a lot to you and I want to—” Kent trailing off as he tries to figure out where he’s going with this.  He’s pretty sure he was going to say that he wanted to know why it was so special to him, maybe also because he wants to feel connected to Tater’s past in some way—which saying that is a _terrible_ idea.  “I don’t know, it’s just the polite thing to do,” Kent finishes, mumbling quietly.

 

“You are sure?  You not—”

 

“Shut up, and let me eat.  Also sit down, because you make a better fucking door than you do a window and I can’t see the game,” Kent cuts off firmly.  Tater nods and turns to walk back to the armchair and Kent groans.  “Oh for fucks sake, just sit down on the couch,” he says.  “It’s really fine,” he adds when he sees that Tater is opening his mouth to protest.

 

“Okay.”

 

The Aces continue to play terribly, and Kent may or may not take it out on the borscht, angrily clanging the spoon against the side of the bowl with every scoop.  He unconsciously continues to do this, even after he’s emptied his bowl, at least until Tater pulls it from his hands.

 

Kent blushes in embarrassment.  “Sorry,” he apologizes, gazing down at his lap.  “I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

 

“I’m understand,” Tater says, smiling understandingly.  “Watching game when you cannot help is hard.”

 

“No kidding,” Kent says with a snort of laughter.  “Maybe we should just find something else to watch.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah, I don’t think I can take much more of this shit show,” Kent says, leaning forward and snatching up the remote.  “It’s already certain they’re going to lose, and it’s already obvious what I need to kick their asses about when I get back.  Let’s watch something that’s a little more fun.”

 

They settle on a marathon of _Real Housewives_ (one of Kent’s secret addictions).  And by settle, he means that he turns it to the channel and Tater doesn’t protest.

 

Later in the night, at some point, Kent is laughing at something one of the wives said, and then the next thing he knows, he’s waking up with his head in Tater’s lap.  Kent yawns, and Tater looks down at him with a small, almost fond grin.

 

“Sleepy head,” he says, brushing Kent’s bangs off his forehead.  “Is lap comfortable?”

 

“Uhhhh,” Kent says, sitting up quickly, feeling his cheeks heat up and his heart start to race because what the fuck?  “It’s um—y-yeah, it was—sure, it was c-comfortable, yeah.”

 

“Good,” Tater replies simply.

 

“What time is it?” Kent asks, desperate for a distraction as he glances out the window at the dark, deep blue sky, illuminated by the bright lights of the city in the distance.

 

“Is almost midnight,” Tater says.

 

“Oh,” Kent says, running a hand through his hair.  “We—I mean _I_ should probably get to bed.  You don’t have to go to bed now if you don’t want to.”

 

“I’m probably should sleep,” Tater answers, and that’s followed by a long, heavy silence before either of them speak next.  “I’m leave tomorrow,” Tater says.

 

Kent blinks.  “What?”

 

“I’m only suspend for one game,” Tater responds, petting Kit as she leaps up to perch on the armrest next to him.  “I’m need to rejoin team.”

 

“Oh.  Right.  Yeah, of course,” Kent says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice and failing.  He’s also a little confused.  This is what he wants.  He wants Tater to leave so he can get over him.  So why is he disappointed?

 

“Jeff come and check on you tomorrow.  But I’m leave very early in morning,” Tater says slowly.  “You not see me before I’m leave, so one more time I’m just want to say—”

 

“ _Please_ don’t apologize again,” Kent begs, his voice nearly cracking.  He feels like he’s right on the precipice of losing his ability to hold back from doing something stupid.  Tater dragged him out of his room, made Kent his favorite dish from his childhood, and let him fall asleep in his lap.  Tater doesn’t hate him; all the evidence he thought he had has been smashed to bits (or, if Kent is being honest, most of it wasn’t really there in the first place).  Now all he has is his fragile self-control, and if Tater apologizes again, if Kent looks into his eyes one more time, that will disappear on him too, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens.

 

“But I’m—”

 

Kent bites his lip.  “I know you’re sorry,” he says.  “I’ve—you’ve more than proved it, okay?  I just—I have to—” Kent pauses, swallowing thickly.  He wants to say thank you, tell Tater how nice this was, how most of him doesn’t want Tater to go.  But he doesn’t say any of that.  He _can’t_ say any of that.  Instead he stands up and starts moving toward his bedroom, and the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, “I’m have to go to bed.  Night.”

 

“You need help?  You want shower—”

 

“ _No_ ,” Kent replies forcefully.  “I’m—I’m fine.  I just let me—I just want to sleep.”

 

“Okay.  Good night, Kent,” Tater says just as the door to Kent’s bedroom clicks shut.

 

It hurts in a way Kent really should’ve expected.  Because for all his attempts at distance, for all his attempts to convince himself that Tater hated him and was acting based on guilt, Kent fell.  He should’ve known this was a bad idea the second Tater offered.  He already had a crush, and he should’ve predicted that if Tater came her, it would turn into something much bigger.  The surprise for Kent is that it’s something that feels more intense than anything else Kent has experienced before.  But that doesn’t matter—it’s still something he can’t have.

 

Kent numbly shuffles over to his bed.  He’s going to have to let this go, at some point.  But right now he can’t think of anything except how much this hurts, and how much he wants to cry.  So he buries his face in his pillow, and that’s what he does.

* * *

 

Kent wakes up the next morning because his phone starts buzzing in his ear.

 

“Ugh, _stop_ ,” Kent groans, not really to anyone in particular, except maybe whoever is blowing up his phone (who, of course, can’t actually hear him, but at least saying it makes him feel less annoyed).

 

Kent picks it up, intending to shut it off so that—Jeff—will stop bothering him, but he stops when he feels something papery on the back of the case.  He turns it over in his hand, revealing a post-it with a note scrawled on it stuck to the back.

 

**_I’m forget to give you this back.  Hope you recover fast._ **

**_Tater ))))_ **

**_P.S. Don’t forget Jeff come by tomorrow_ **

 

Kent turns his still buzzing phone back over to look at the screen, and sure enough all the texts and missed calls are from Jeff.

 

**Messages with Jeff**

**_Jeff:_ ** _I’m here_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _Just like Tater told you I would be_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _You better not have forgotten to plug your phone in last night_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _If it’s dead and you can’t see these I’m going to kill you_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _It’s been five minutes_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _This is getting ridiculous_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _One of your neighbors just got home_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _She’s staring at me bc I keep pounding on your door_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _Now it’s been 15 minutes_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _OPEN THE DOOR PARSER_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OUT OF BED AND OPEN THE DOOR ASSHOLE_

**_Kent:_ ** _Jeez Jeff relax_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I just woke up_

**_Jeff:_ ** _IT’S NINE_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _YOU NEVER SLEEP THIS LATE_

**_Kent:_ ** _Yeah, well I didn’t have a great night_

**_Jeff:_ ** _Don’t tell me you’re hungover_

**_Kent:_ ** _It’s not a hungover kind of deal_

**_Jeff:_ ** _Oh shit_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _Well then get your ass out here so we can talk about this_

**_Kent:_ ** _I’m coming, chill out_

 

Kent stumbles out of his room and pulls open the door to his apartment.

 

“Damn, you look like shit,” Jeff says, and Kent scowls as he moves to slam the door shut, except that Jeff (the asshole) sticks his foot in the frame.  “Ow.  The _fuck_ , Parse?” Jeff exclaims as the door hits his foot.

 

“I don’t need you to remind me of how terrible I feel,” Kent says, walking into his kitchen as Jeff trails behind.  “I mean, you should know you were lucky I got out of bed for you.”

 

“I’m touched,” Jeff retorts sarcastically.

 

“Fuck off,” Kent barks back.

 

“Wow, whatever this is, it must be a pretty big deal for you to be in such a sour mood,” Jeff says, and Kent wants to snap back that he’s fine, that nothing is wrong, but he’s never really been able to do that with Jeff.  Not with things this big.

 

Kent puts his face in his hands, breathing in deeply.  “I’m sorry Jeff,” he says.  “I shouldn’t—it’s not your fault and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

 

“Oh my God, he’s apologizing,” Jeff mutters to (probably) himself, even though Kent can still hear him.  “Now I know something massive is going on.  Spill all the details Parse.  Tell me everything.”

 

Kent shakes his head, because really, what is there to tell?  He fell in love with someone he can’t have.  Instead of saying anything about that, he tells Jeff, voice still muffled by his hands, “I don’t know where to start,” hoping that will be enough to get Jeff to let it go.  To tell him that he’s still trying to process this, and that he’ll explain later.

 

Jeff gasps quietly.  “Oh my God, it’s something with Tater, isn’t it.  What the hell did that fucker do?”

 

“Nothing!” Kent objects loudly, because none of this is Tater’s fault, and Jeff needs to know that.  “Tater was—Tater was great, okay?”

 

“Oh.  He was?” Jeff asks, and Kent nods to confirm.  “Well good.  I thought for a second I was going to have to— _legally_ of course—rough him up twice instead of just once.”

 

“Fuckin’ hell Jeff, you better not,” Kent chides him sternly.  “You and everyone else on the Aces need to lay off of Tater because there’s no good reason for him to get roughed up.”

 

“But he—”

 

“I’m not really concerned with what he did,” Kent interrupts.  “I’m the one who was an idiot and almost took out his goalie.”

 

“Alright _fine_ ,” Jeff replies.  “But what the hell is going on then?”

 

Kent can see by the look in Jeff’s eye that he doesn’t plan on letting this go.  He probably thinks it’s too big to give him time to process, and that he needs to get it out now, or he might never—which is probably true.  So Kent takes a deep breath before replying, his voice small and quiet, “I—I think I’m in love with him.”

 

“Holy fucking _shit_ ,” Kent swears under his breath.  “Okay, I have to know exactly what happened so I can figure out why this has got you so fucked up.”

 

“I don’t need you to—”

 

“Well, I’m going to anyway,” Jeff insists firmly.  “So tell me.”

 

“Well, I was in the hospital, and the doctor said I needed someone to be with me for a few days, and Tater volunteered and then…” Kent begins before regaling Jeff with all the important events of the last three days: the plane ride, Kit, the breakfast disaster, the shower, Tater’s (second) apology, and finally the events of last night.  Jeff listens quietly, intently, his face blank and betraying no reaction until the end.

 

When Kent finishes, Jeff stares at him with his mouth open for a long moment, before shaking his head and lowering it into his hands.  “Kent Parson, you clueless, absolute fucking idiot,” he sighs exasperatedly.

 

“What?” Kent questions blankly, because that was not the reaction he was expecting.

 

Jeff stands up and walks over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.  “He was literally begging you to make a move or say something the whole time!  Oh my God!” he exclaims.

 

Kent purses his lips together.  It’s not like he hasn’t already figured that out.  It came to him somewhere between his second and third fit of crying last night, but that doesn’t really mean anything.  It wouldn’t have changed the way Kent allowed things to play out.

 

“I know,” he answers Jeff matter-of-factly, and judging by the tortured expression on Jeff’s face, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

 

“What the fuck?  You—you fucking _knew_?  Then why didn’t you do anything?!?!?!?” Jeff asks, laboring to measure his breathing and voice volume as he takes to pacing back and forth across Kent’s kitchen, though Kent doesn’t understand why this is making him so upset.

 

“Okay, well fine, I didn’t figure it out until last night in bed,” Kent admits with a shrug.  “I thought he hated me at first.  But it’s not like it would’ve changed anything if I had figured it out sooner.  I wouldn’t have done anything because I know it’s a bad idea.  There’s no way Tater’s going to really want to—”

 

“Tater’s not Ryan,” Jeff quips.  “He’s _nothing_ like Ryan.”

 

“ _Fuck_ Jeff, I know these guys aren’t Ryan!” Kent fumes.  “I know you think this is about me thinking all these guys are going to be like him, but it’s not!  It’s not about who he is or what he did!”

 

“Then what is it about Kent, huh?  Why do you keep putting yourself through hell every time you meet a guy you might like?” Jeff challenges.  “Because I’m sick and tired of watching you do it!”

 

“People leave me Jeff, okay?  I push everyone too far and they leave!” Kent shouts back at him.  “It keeps happening and I can’t figure out how to stop and I can’t—”

 

Jeff stops his pacing, eyes going wide as he registers what Kent is saying.  “Kent—”

 

“I CAN’T WATCH HIM LEAVE!” Kent screams, and then curls in on himself, feeling the pressure build up behind his eyes, and all the energy that carried him through this argument so far dissipates.  “He’s too—it would break me if we were—if he ever left,” Kent whispers, blinking as his vision blurs.

 

Jeff grabs his bicep and pulls him into a hug.  “I—I get that feeling, okay?” Jeff says.  “But you don’t know Tater the way I do.”

 

“So what?” Kent sniffles. “I don’t have to know—I mean, the kind of person he is doesn’t matter.  It happens with everyone.”

 

“That’s not true,” Jeff says.  “Listen to me very carefully: Tater is so, so, so patient.  You push him as much as you want, but I swear—at least off the ice—the guy really doesn’t have a breaking point.  I know because I’ve tried.  I was on the Falconers with him for a year.  He was just so—he was always so goddamn happy and nothing fazed him and I just wanted to see him lose it, and I kept trying and he just _wouldn’t_.”

 

“That’s not the same thing as a relationship—”

 

Jeff releases him from the hug and walks over to the table to sit down.  “Okay, you’re probably not going to like what I have to say next but—if he spent three days with you while you were injured and he didn’t get upset or annoyed or whatever—he’s a goddamn saint,” he says.

 

Kent laughs wetly.  “You’re saying I’m difficult when I’m hurt?”

 

Jeff nods.  “Yeah, you’re like 10,000 times more unbearable than usual,” he responds with a grin.

 

“Fuck you,” Kent spits back without any heat behind the words.

 

“Alright, but listen up, because I have one more thing you’ve got to know about him,” Jeff says.

 

“I think you’ve made your point,” Kent says, though he’s not entirely sure.

 

“I know I have, but I also know you, and I know that you’re still not sure,” Jeff says (damn, Jeff know him well).  “Tater isn’t a quitter.  You know, once I watched him spend an entire seven-hour plane ride and about $20 trying to beat one level of Candy Crush.  And later that night at the hotel, he was still playing the _same fucking level_.  By that point, I’d probably have—”

 

“Thrown your phone at the wall,” Kent finishes.

 

“Exactly,” Jeff replies with a grin.  “So if things with him were ever to get difficult, you can be certain that he’d fight to work it out.  He wouldn’t leave.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Jeff replies with unwavering certainty.  “I know you’re scared Kent, okay?  And I get it.  Things like this—they’re going to be scary, because they’re so real and there’s so much on the line.  I mean like, your heart is the biggest thing you can put on the line.  But when it’s like this—when you’re in love and you do nothing, you’re going to regret not taking the chance just because you might get hurt.  And I—” Jeff pauses, face screwed up in concentration as he thinks of what to say next.  “I know both of you pretty well, okay?  And I just—I don’t think there’s anyone out there more meant for you than Tater is.”

 

Kent’s heart leaps.  “You really think so?”

 

Jeff nods.  “Yep.”

 

“That’s—it means a lot that you would say that,” Kent says, grinning down at his shoes (because wow, he has some great friends).

 

“I mean it,” Jeff iterates.

 

“Okay I get it, shut up.  This is getting to be too much,” Kent says.  “I think you just said more nice things about me right now than you have in the whole time I’ve known you.”

 

Jeff rolls his eyes and flips him off.  “Fuck off Parse.”

 

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, Kent simply enjoying the revelation that he doesn’t have to be scared to chase after what he wants with Tater, until it dawns on Kent.  “Fuck!” he almost shouts.  “He’s already back in Providence.”

 

Jeff shrugs.  “So?”

 

Jeff shrugs.  “You’re not going to be playing for a few games—”

 

“Weeks,” Kent corrects.

 

“Okay, _weeks_ yet,” Jeff continues.  “What’s there stopping you from flying to Providence to tell him?  I’m sure Jack and Bitty wouldn’t mind having you around for a day or two while you figure this shit out.”

 

Kent’s heart leaps.  “Jeff, you’re a fucking genius!” he says, taking off for his bedroom.

 

“I know!” Jeff calls back.

 

“Wait,” Kent says, running back out to the kitchen.

 

“Dude, I’ll be right here when you’re done packing to take you to the airport,” Jeff says.

 

“Oh thank God,” Kent says, sprinting back to his room.

 

As Kent stuffs clothes into his carry-on bag, he can’t help but think about how rom-commy this is.  Flying out to some city the day after the guy he loves left, just so he can tell him he loves him?  That sounds like some made for TV, Hallmark Channel shit (shut up, he doesn’t watch Hallmark movies, _shut up_ ).  But honestly, he finds that he doesn’t care.  If there’s anyone that would be worthy of a grand gesture coming from someone like him, it’s Tater.

* * *

**Group Chat with Bitty, Jack, and Kent**

**_Kent:_ ** _Can one of you pick me up at the airport?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _…_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Why_

**_Kent:_ ** _Because I’m flying into providence_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Well no shit_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Why are you coming to providence_

**_Kent:_ ** _Because I’m an idiot_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Obviously_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _But that still doesn’t explain why_

**_Kent:_ ** _You know what, I’ll just take a cab or über_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Fine, you can do that_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Hope you can figure out where you’re going ;)_

**_Kent:_ ** _Alright fine_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I need to talk to Tater_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Nooooo, I never would’ve guessed_

**_Kent:_ ** _Just so you know, I’m sticking my tongue out at you right now_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Duly noted_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _So what changed your mind????????_

**_Kent:_ ** _Jeff_

**_Bitty:_ ** _As in your teammate_

**_Kent:_ ** _Yeah_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Okay hold up_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _What the dickens did he say that we didn’t?_

**_Kent:_ ** _What the dickens?_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Really?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION_

**_Kent:_ ** _Well…actually nothing_

 **_Kent:_ ** _o.O_

**_Bitty:_ ** _But you believed him over us_

**_Kent:_ ** _He was outside the situation you know?_

 **_Kent:_ ** _You and Jack have been part of this since the beginning_

 **_Kent:_ ** _He wasn’t_

 **_Kent:_ ** _So he didn’t have any bias_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Okay but_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _My only bias was that you’re my friend and I wanted you to be happy_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Which is probably the same bias Jeff has_

**_Kent:_ ** _Yeah, well_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Jeff was here to shout at me_

 **_Kent:_ ** _You weren’t_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Whatever_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _I guess it’s not that important_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You’re coming to providence to talk to Tater_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _That’s the most important thing here_

**_Jack:_ ** _You are?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Yes honey, now keep up_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _What time are you flying in_

**_Kent:_ ** _I just got through security so_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Probably 6:30-ish your time_

**_Jack:_ ** _Tater will already be at the arena._

 **_Jack:_ ** _The game starts at 7._

**_Kent:_ ** _So I’ll have to wait until tomorrow_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Fuck_

**_Jack:_ ** _Bits, I gave you a locker room pass at the beginning of the season, right?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Yeah_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _What are you thinking, honey?_

**_Jack:_ ** _Then shouldn’t you be able to sneak Kent down to the locker room after the game?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _It would probably take a pie or two, but I could do it_

**_Jack:_ ** _Great!_

 **_Jack:_ ** _So what you’ll do is you’ll pick Kent up at the airport, bring him to the game, and then get him into the locker room afterward._

**_Kent:_ ** _You sure this is a good idea_

 **_Kent:_ ** _You sure I’m not going to like_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Get beat up by your teammates_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Kent pls_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You’re not THAT disliked_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Plus you’ll be with me_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _All I’d have to do is look at a dissenting teammate sternly and they’d back off_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _They all know the price of crossing me_

**_Kent:_ ** _Savage_

 **_Kent:_ ** _But I’m not sure that doing this with the team around is a good idea either_

**_Jack:_ ** _Tater is out._

 **_Jack:_ ** _He came out to the guys right after I did._

 **_Jack:_ ** _No one would mind._

**_Kent:_ ** _idk_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Doesn’t this all seem a bit like_

 **_Kent:_ ** _idk…a super grand gesture_

**_Bitty:_ ** _You said it yourself_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _You were being an idiot_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _A grand gesture is the perfect way to make up for it_

**_Kent:_ ** _Okay_

 **_Kent:_ ** _They’re boarding now_

 **_Kent:_ ** _I gtg_

 **_Kent:_ ** _See you soon_

* * *

 

Jack’s plan to get him down to the locker room goes off without a hitch.  Bitty’s charming smile and witty conversation and—oh, who is he kidding?  He was able to sneak past security because Bitty was distracting them with pie.  It’s like crack, only two times stronger; he’s basically got the entire Falconers staff wrapped around his finger because of those pies.  He doesn’t even know why he had to sneak past them.  He could’ve walked right through when Bitty was holding out those pies for them.

 

But now they’re standing outside the door to the Falconers locker room, and Kent can’t move his legs.  If he goes in there, there’s no turning back.  Tater will see him and know that he flew all the way out here.  There will be no denying what that means.  “I’m not—” he starts to say, but Bitty grabs his bicep and starts dragging him toward the door.

 

“For your own good, I’m not going to let you back out of this,” Bitty says, pushing the door to the locker room open.

 

He’s thrust inside, and he can feel all the eyes in the room swivel onto him.

 

“What’s he doing here?” one voice whispers.

 

“What is Bitty doing with him?” another mutters.

 

All the while, Bitty is gently but persistently pushing him toward where (he assumes) Tater’s locker is.  They don’t quite get there because suddenly Tater is standing right in front of him.

 

“Kent?  What you doing here?” Tater asks, his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

 

Kent opens his mouth to reply, to explain exactly why he’s standing in the Falconers locker room, but the words die in his throat as he looks at Tater.  He’s already completely dressed, his bag slung over his shoulder like he was just about to walk out.  His hair is just starting to dry and as a result, is starting to curl up slightly.  He looks so tired and soft and Kent swears his plan was to talk to him first, but he’s spent the last few days trying to hold off his burning, all-consuming want, and he finds that he just can’t do it anymore.  Instead of saying anything at all, Kent reaches up, puts his hands on the back of Tater’s neck, and pulls him down into a kiss.

 

Judging by the way Tater stumbles into him, it seems he was surprised by the move.  Surprised, yes, but not so surprised that he’s not kissing Kent back, and not so surprised that he doesn’t reach out and place his hands on Kent’s hips to steady them both.

 

It’s not a long or deep kiss, but Tater had kissed him back, and that’s all Kent really needed to happen.  If he hadn’t kissed back, Kent would’ve been crushed, but at least he would’ve given it a shot, and according to Jeff, that’s better than not having tried at all.

 

Kent’s eyes had fluttered shut during the kiss, but right now he really doesn’t want to dare to open them, because if this is somehow a dream, Kent doesn’t ever want it to end.

 

One of Tater’s hands comes up from his hip and cups his cheek, and Kent doesn’t resist his urge to lean into it.  There’s a different feeling in Tater’s touch, something that Ryan didn’t have, something that not even Jack had.  Tater’s touch is gentle but firm, one that Kent feels is telling him _I’d never hurt you, and I’d hurt anyone who tried to hurt you_.

 

“Kent,” Tater mumbles, his warm breath ghosting over Kent’s lips as he slowly rubs his thumb back and forth across Kent’s cheek.  Kent slowly opens his eyes to see Tater smiling at him in a way that’s at once dazed, awed, and enthralled.

 

“I just—” Kent whispers, his voice unsteady both because his heart is racing and because he never planned what he was going to do after he kissed Tater.  “I f-forgot to say thank you,” is eventually what he settles on.

 

Tater’s hand comes off his cheek, but then he’s pulled in, completely engulfed by Tater’s big body and strong arms.  “It’s okay,” he says, a hand running up and down Kent’s back as he hugs him tightly.  “You more than make up.”

 

After a long moment, Tater releases him, then grabs his hand and leads him over to the bench in front of his cubby.  He sits down, and pats the spot next to him, but Kent really doesn’t want to only sit next to him.  It’s a rather high bench (for some reason), so when Tater sits down, it makes him only a few inches shorter than Kent, so Kent instead steps between his legs and crowds up to him.

 

Tater hums happily, not minding at all as he reaches out to drag his hands up Kent’s sides, over his shoulders, down his arms—all over him really, and Kent feels like crying.  He feels like crying because he feels so happy, happier than he’s felt in a long time, and because he feels safe here right now with Tater.  But more than anything, he feels like crying because he almost didn’t let himself have this.  He was almost too scared, almost let his fear of getting hurt keep him from Tater, a man who, Kent can see now, looks at him like he’s someone special, who holds Kent like he wants to protect him from the world.

 

“Why you cry?” Tater asks, looking up at Kent with such concern that Kent only wants to cry harder.  Tater cups his face and pulls him in so that their foreheads are just touching.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s just—” Kent sniffles.  “I didn’t realize how much I wanted this and I’m just—I’m overwhelmed.”

 

“Me too,” Tater says.  “I’m want this much too but I’m leave thinking you did not.”

 

“You don’t know how much I fucking did.  But I’ve hurt a lot of guys before I didn’t want to do that to you and even if I didn’t hurt you I’m not an easy person to deal with,” Kent says, starting to ramble as tears slide down his cheeks.  “And so I was so terrified of you getting fed up and leaving me and getting hurt and I still am—”

 

Tater brings up a finger to his lips.  “Shh,” Tater interjects softly.  “Look me in eye.”  Tater pauses, waiting for Kent to do that before he goes on.  “Kenny, if we do this, I’m not leave.  I’m talk to many people about you—”

 

“You mean Jeff?”

 

“Okay yes, I’m mean Jeff,” Tater confirms, blushing slightly.  “But I’m know you have good heart.  I’m know you can be difficult, but I’m also know I can be too.  I’m know what I’m get into, and I’m give my all to this if you give all, I’m promise you Kenny.”

 

Kent surges forward the few inches between their lips and kisses Tater.  “I love you,” he murmurs against Tater’s lips, before jolting back because that was not what he meant to say.  “I mean—”

 

Tater pulls him back in, kissing him softly again.  “Все нормально. Я тоже тебя люблю,” he says, and Kent cocks his head to the side.  “I’m say it’s okay.  I’m love you too.”

 

All Kent can do in response to that is to grin, and then lean in and kiss him one more time.

* * *

 

**Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

***Kent added Alexei to the group***

**Kent changed the group name to “The NHL Queer Squad”**

**_Bitty:_ ** _We’re missing an awful lot of players to be calling ourselves the NHL’s “queer squad”_

**_Jack:_ ** _C’mon Bits, I know you know the definition of a squad._

 **_Jack:_ ** _You just want to be a smartass to Kent._

**_Kent:_ ** _You say that like that isn’t what he’s trying to do every time we text_

**_Bitty:_ ** _:))))))_

**_Kent:_ ** _Also I want names_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Kent_

**_Kent:_ ** _I’m just kidding!_

**_Alexei:_ ** _You want to know other players (((((_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _You not love me anymore_

**_Kent:_ ** _omg nooooooo_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Of course I still love you babe_

**_Alexei:_ ** _I’m just kid you )))))_

**_Bitty:_ ** _LOVE_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _BABE_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Y’ALL_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _IT’S BEEN A DAY_

**_Jack:_ ** _Actually it’s more like four._

**_Bitty:_ ** _No one asked you honey_

**_Kent:_ ** _Y’all know I had a crush on him way before now_

**_Alexei:_ ** _You had crush?_

 **_Alexei:_ ** _Is embarrassing ))))_

**_Kent:_ ** _ALEXEI PLS_

 **_Kent:_ ** _YOU ADMITTED TO THE SAME THING LAST NIGHT_

 **_Kent:_ ** _(Also I literally just forgot I added him to this chat, whoops)_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Smooth_

**_Kent:_ ** _Yeah, well_

**_Jack:_ ** _Where did they go?_

 **_Jack:_ ** _It’s been ten minutes since either of them said anything._

**_Bitty:_ ** _Jack_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _Honey_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _What do you think?_

**_Jack:_ ** _Oh._

 **_Jack:_ ** _Well, if they’re busy, maybe we should…_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Already ahead of you B)))_

**_Kent:_ ** _Y’all nasty_

**_Alexei:_ ** _But that is what we do_

**_Kent:_ ** _SHUSH_

**_Alexei:_ ** _You must make me )))_

**Author's Note:**

> A few comments, now that you've finished reading:  
> \- Do I know anything about concussions and rib injuries? Absolutely not  
> \- Did I take the time to look up whether checking is legal in the All-Star game? Nope  
> \- Is it realistic for a player to be suspended for (assuming it's illegal) checking someone in the All-Star game? Probably not  
> \- Should any of these things take away from the story? I certainly hope y'all don't think so  
> \- Is Kent's middle name actually Victory? No, definitely not, he just refuses to accept that Bitty guessed his middle name correctly on the first try
> 
> Also, if you enjoyed that scene where Kent and Tater kissed, you should check out [ this post, which includes more art](http://benjji2795.tumblr.com/post/153390103549/benjji2795-so-i-was-talking-aboutplanning-out) by [Jay](http://bahoreal.tumblr.com)! (Ignore the text in the post, the art was drawn before I wrote the scene so I just wrote filler that I thought would fit? But the story turned out slightly different so now it doesn't fit and I'm just too lazy to fix it)


End file.
